I'll Come For You
by LadyWallace
Summary: Dean gets a call that Sam was a victim in a horrific accident, the problem is, there's no body to prove he's dead and he's not going to give up on his brother that easy. Meanwhile Sam languishes as a captive of demons, wondering what they want with him. Lots of angst and Sam!Whump. Pre-series, Stanford era
1. Chapter 1

**Hey everyone! I had wanted to write a Valentine's Day story, but was working on this instead so I decided to just post this and give you a little angst. Sorry :P Anyway, I realized it had been a while since I did a pre-series story, and this idea popped into my head so I decided to give it a go. I was hoping to keep this kind of canon compliant, but it might be considered slight AU so keep that in mind. Otherwise, enjoy :)**

I'll Come For You

A Supernatural Fanfic

Chapter One

That morning when Sam stepped onto the bus, he never would have guessed the hell that was to follow.

It was a long holiday weekend, and he was taking the day to go up to San Francisco to pick up a few things that he needed, and also, hopefully to shop for a birthday present for Jess; even though it was a month away, he didn't have a lot of time to get out, and she was busying studying this weekend so she had declined his invitation to come along. He had been invited to several parties back on campus, but truthfully, he was kind of enjoying the idea of having a day alone to do whatever he wanted. It just reminded him of all the times he couldn't take that luxury as a kid.

He paid his fare and found a seat, settling in with a book—the third Harry Potter. He was taking his weekend to do some reading for fun. Overall, it was looking like the start to a relaxing holiday.

At the next stop, a man got on the bus, looking around a bit before he chose to sit right next to Sam. Sam wasn't entirely happy with this development, seeing as there were still several unoccupied seats open in the back, and he wasn't in the mood to talk to strangers today. He glanced up, quickly able to ascertain the make of the man beside him—a trick he had never gotten over, even though he wasn't hunting anymore. For the most part, he looked like just a normal, middle-aged guy, with brown hair and dark eyes, and a bit of five o'clock shadow on his chin. He was maybe a couple inches shorter than Sam, but had about 60 pounds on him, making him look bigger. He was normal enough though, which was why Sam couldn't figure out why he had a bad feeling about him.

He tried to concentrate on his book, ignoring the man, not really caring if he came across as anti-social, but after another few minutes, he heard the man sigh a bit in a contented way and lean back in the seat.

"Nice day, isn't it?" he asked.

Sam nodded. "Yeah," he replied. Not replying would just make him look like a jerk. Besides, he was being stupid and paranoid.

"One to remember," the man added as if to himself. "Or at least it will be."

The hairs on the back of Sam's neck stood on end. Okay, that was weird, although again, it didn't have to be malicious, even though all the training his dad and Dean both had hammered into him over the years would say differently. The rational, normal part of his brain that had gotten more exercise since he had been at Stanford told him that maybe the guy was going to propose to his girlfriend or something.

Then he stretched his arm across the back of the seat and leaned toward Sam, causing the young man to freeze. "You know, I'm getting the feeling you're giving me the cold shoulder, Sam."

This made Sam react, his eyes snapped up to his unwanted companion. "How do you know my name?"

"Oh, I know you, Sam, I've been watching you for a while. Uh-uh, don't think about getting up, we don't want to make a scene, now do we?"

Sam sat, frozen, trying to keep his voice calm and quiet. He didn't want to make a scene either. Who knew what this man wanted with him, he didn't want anyone else getting hurt. "What do you want?"

The man smiled with a chuckle, shaking his head slightly. "Oh, Sam, it's simple. I just want you." His eyes suddenly flashed black, and Sam's breath caught in his throat.

"You're a demon," Sam hissed, his heart pounding. He was reaching into his backpack, where he always carried a knife—he may not hunt anymore but he wasn't stupid.

"Bingo," the demon said, eyes back to normal now. "Now I hate to ruin your holiday weekend, but I've got my own deadlines to meet, and it just so happens I need you for something important, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't make a scene."

Sam swallowed hard, a thousand different scenarios rushing through his head as to why this demon would want him. The first and foremost thought was that his dad or Dean or both might be hunting it and if he were taken, he would only be used as leverage. And that just wasn't going to happen. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

"Oh, Sam, Sam, Sam," the demon said, shaking his head as he slid his arm down around Sam's shoulders and leaned in close, making Sam's skin crawl; to anyone else it looked like two friends having a confidential conversation. "Hate to break it to you, but you don't really have any choice in the matter. I can take you out of here by force easily enough and you know it. It's nothing personal, I'm just following orders."

Sam found the knife and was about to pull it out and stab the demon with it, when the thing grabbed his wrist in a numbing hold and Sam dropped the knife back into his backpack.

"Nuh-uh, that's naughty, Sam. I guess we're going to have to do this the hard way." Sam watched in horror as the demon wrenched his wrist around to expose his inner forearm and produced a syringe from his coat. His grip was too tight for Sam to struggle away and he was smashed against the window anyway, so he could only watch as the needle entered his skin and the demon pressed the plunger down. Almost instantly, he began to feel woozy and light-headed. The demon patted his shoulder roughly.

"Easy, Sam, don't go passing out yet. We don't want to make a scene when we get out of here."

There was a stop coming up, and Sam watched it approach with rapidly blurring eyes. The demon leaned toward him again. "This is our stop, Sam. Think you can stand?"

Sam didn't know whether he should make a scene or not. On one hand, he thought that maybe if he did, the demon would get annoyed and leave, but more likely, it would just get innocent people killed and Sam couldn't let that happen. So he allowed the demon to grab his elbow and help him stand up. He swayed, but he was still able to mostly walk on his own, trying to keep suspicion away from himself. He almost fell down the bus steps, but somehow managed to keep his feet, grabbing the pole for the bus stop sign to keep himself steady once he was on the sidewalk. Then the demon was back at his side, grinning in his face.

"Now watch this, Sam, this is where it gets interesting." He snapped his fingers and Sam wasn't entirely sure what was happening, but then screams started to sound from the bus, and smoke could be seen in the windows, soon replaced by flames. People were running around inside, screaming, and trying to open the emergency exits but seemed unable to. The demon must have done something to them.

"No!" Sam yelled, the effort making him even more light headed than he had been. He fumbled for his phone with the plans to call 911, but the demon slapped it from his hand.

"We might want to step back, Sam," he said, dragging the young man backward.

"Stop it!" Sam cried. "You have me, why do you have to hurt them, they didn't suspect anything!"

"Oh, Sam," the demon said, shaking his head. "You don't get it do you? No one can know where you are or come looking for you. This is a cover up. This is where you die as far as anyone else is concerned. Oops, almost forgot." He reached into Sam's back pocket and grabbed his wallet, tossing it toward the flaming bus. "From this point on, Sam Winchester, you are a dead man walking."

"No!" Sam cried again, but he was already losing consciousness from whatever he had been drugged with, his vision blackening around the edges. He stumbled and tried to catch himself, but his body wouldn't respond. The last thing he saw as he lay on the concrete, not even remembering how he got there, was the bus exploding it bright orange flames, and then there was nothing.

* * *

 _Dean Winchester was_ not having a very good day.

To start off, he had finished a job with a particularly spry poltergeist that had proceeded to throw him around until he had finally managed to burn the object it had been attached to, so he was busted up pretty bad, then he had to quit town because the job had gotten a little hairy and breaking and entering were still not allowed apparently, even if you saved lives. Now he was sitting in a diner just off the highway, which was out of pie, and he still hadn't heard back from his dad even after he had left at least twenty messages in the past week. The man had been gone for nearly three weeks now when he had said he was supposed to be gone for one and a half tops. But Dean shouldn't really have been surprised. After all, that was kind of how it had always been. But things had gotten better recently with them hunting together on most jobs; though as usual, one small tip sent John off to the ends of the earth. He never said anything, but Dean knew they were tips he thought would lead him to what had killed Mom, and in a way, that made Dean even angrier, because he thought he deserved to go after the bastard as much as his dad did. Still, he thought he was owed at least a heads up, or a check in every once in a while.

As he paid for his greasy, sub-par meal and headed back out to the Impala, he didn't think there was any way his day could possibly get worse, until the call came.

Dean was just fumbling for his keys when his phone started ringing and he snagged it quickly, hoping it might finally be his dad, but he didn't recognize the number. Frowning he flipped it open and answered the call.

"Hello?"

"Is this Mr. Dean Winchester?"

Okay, they knew his real name, that couldn't be good. "Yeah," he answered cautiously. "Who is this and how did you get this number?"

"Mr. Winchester, this is the San Francisco Police Department, you were listed as an emergency contact for your brother, Sam Winchester," the voice over the phone, sounding like a middle-aged woman, continued.

An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of Dean's stomach, churning the greasy food he had eaten. "Yeah, what happened, is Sam all right?"

"I'm sorry to have to inform you, Mr. Winchester, but your brother was a victim in a bus accident that happened earlier today."

Dean braced himself with a hand against the hood of the Impala, trying to make sense of what the woman was telling him. "W-what do you mean, 'victim'? Is he hurt? Where was he taken?"

"Mr. Winchester, I'm sorry, you don't understand; your brother did not survive the accident. There were no survivors."

Dean folded, his knees giving out, and he sank down to sit against his car, his hand gripping the phone so tight he thought it would crack. "He's dead?" he whispered, hardly able to utter the words.

"Yes, Mr. Winchester, I'm sorry for your loss," the woman told him gently. "If you have any questions, please let us know. I know this is a hard time, but we would like you or another family member to come to the department in person."

Dean didn't really hear the rest. He let the phone slide into his lap as he sat there, staring up at the cloudy sky. He couldn't believe it. Sammy wasn't dead, Sammy was in collage studying hard and making a life for himself. _Life_ not….

Dean wrapped his arms around the ache in his chest, so strong that he doubled over. But the worst part was that he was too shocked, and in too much pain to even cry, because how the hell was he ever going to learn to live without his little brother?

He had never felt more alone than in that moment.

* * *

 _Sam woke slowly_ through a haze that made him feel like he was floating. It wasn't entirely unpleasant, not the worst waking he'd ever had, but there was something in the back of his mind that told him he needed to be conscious, that he was in trouble. Why? Was he on a hunt? Had he been hurt? His first thought was that Dean would be furious at him, because he was scared, of course, but he didn't want to put his brother through that so he forced his eyes open.

He didn't know where he was. He had no recollection of it. It was dark, and all he saw when he opened his eyes was blurry shapes. But after a few minutes they focused, and he was able to make out some more details. First of all, he was sure he was underground, in a basement or something, because it was cold and felt damp, and there was no natural light source. In fact, there wasn't much light source at all, just a couple droplights hanging on the other side of the room. He was lying against a brick wall, and the floor felt like cement, though he had been put on top of a dirty old sleeping bag to add a little padding, at least. His head hurt a lot…had he hit it?

He closed his eyes and eventually the memories started to come back. No, he wasn't hunting, he had been at collage for two years now, he had gotten out of the life…or not. Then what—

He gasped as he suddenly remembered the bus and the demon and then the fire—all those people, they were all dead. And it was all because of him.

Sam tried to sit up, his head pounding, and his body sluggish, but all he managed to do was get tangled in some chains that were manacled to his wrists and attached to the wall somewhere above his head. Sam pulled at them anyway, even though he knew it wasn't going to do any good.

"Hey!" he shouted, his voice hoarse. Yeah, he knew it was probably only his captors who would hear him, but it was better than being left in the dark waiting to find out what they wanted him for. "Hey!" he shouted again.

A few minutes later, he heard footsteps somewhere above, sounding like they were coming down stairs, and then a door creaked open, letting in some more light for a minute before it closed. Sam looked up as a tall figure entered the room, and it was only when he stepped into the meager light of the basement, that Sam recognized him as the demon who had taken him from the bus.

"Well, look who's awake," he said with a very unpleasant smile. "Welcome to the party, Sam."


	2. Chapter 2

**On with chapter two-where Dean starts to realize something is up with the situation. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, followed and faved so far, I'm glad people are enjoying it :) I hope you continue to do so!**

Chapter Two

Dean drove all night. There was no way he would get any rest with the news he had received, not until he got to California and found out what exactly happened. A bus accident, the woman had said, with no survivors. It must have been pretty bad then. He just still couldn't wrap his head around the fact that Sam was dead. His baby brother who he had practically raised like his own kid was no longer in this world. He didn't know how to deal with that, what to do with it. He didn't even think he could believe it until he saw Sam's body. And hell, there was a thought. He was going to have to go to the morgue and identify him to be sure. And then claim him for burial.

The thought of seeing Sam's body lying on a hard stainless steel slab caused him to have to pull over. He barely put the Impala into park before he was out the door, retching onto the shoulder of the road. There wasn't much left in his stomach but bile, thankfully, but his body kept dry heaving for longer than necessary until he fell back onto his heels and rested his head against the wheel well. He couldn't do this, not alone. Where the hell was his father? Never there when he needed him.

He rested for a few minutes, almost not even wanting to get up again, but he had just gotten over the California border and knew it was best to keep going. Because if he stopped, he didn't know if he would make it. Thankfully, he had only been in Washington, but it still seemed like the longest drive he had ever taken. And yet in some ways, it wasn't nearly long enough.

Another hour, and he realized he needed to find somewhere to stop for the night. Besides, by the time he got the San Francisco, it would still be too early for him to go to the department anyway. So he pulled over at a motel with the plans to get some rest for a couple hours before he got back on the road to go the rest of the way.

As he lugged his duffle bag into the single-bed room, he suddenly remembered that he still had the dirt and blood on him from his job the night before, which seemed like a million years ago now. With a sigh, he took a hot shower, the water only working to ease his bruises and bodily aches, but not the rest of him.

After he changed into clean clothes, he went back and sat on his bed, staring at his phone for a long time, and then with a shaky breath, he dialed his dad's number for the first time that day, hoping that he would get him. _Just this once, Dad, come on. Please, I need you to pick up. Please don't make me leave this as a message._

But of course no one picked up the phone, and Dean ended the call before the answering machine could finish. A sudden dark thought crossed his mind that maybe his dad was dead too, and now he was completely alone. Or maybe he had just finally got tired of him and left, which would accomplish the same thing. Dean had found out long ago, too late, really, after Sam had left for collage, that he didn't like being alone. He could pretend all he wanted, but he didn't like it. And now with his little brother, his best and pretty much only friend in the world, gone, how was he supposed to cope?

He flipped through his phone contacts, and saw one name that might help him. Bobby Singer, the man who had always been a surrogate uncle to him and Sam. It had been several years since Dean had seen him, thanks to John and a misunderstanding or something—he had never asked specifics—but he knew he could always count on Bobby.

He didn't even think of the fact that it was the middle of the night, just dialed the number and listened to several rings, before an irate voice came over the line.

"This had better be good to be calling me at this unholy hour. Who the hell is it?"

"Hey, Bobby, it's Dean."

"Dean?" Bobby's voice was a little less acidic now. "Balls, son, you know what time it is?"

Dean rubbed a hand over his face. "Yeah, yeah, I know, sorry, Bobby, it's just…it is important."

"Well, spit it."

"Have you, um, heard from my dad at all recently?"

"I haven't heard from your daddy since I told him I'd shoot him if he showed up at my door again," Bobby said. "Why, what's John been up to lately?"

"I don't know. He took off a couple weeks ago and I haven't heard from him since."

"Well, son, no offence, but that's not exactly news."

"Yeah, well this time I need him back. I…I got some bad news today." He swallowed hard. It sounded so shallow putting it like that, but he didn't know how else to say it.

Bobby seemed to hear the change in his voice because his own softened a bit. "Dean? What's going on, you all right, son?"

Another convulsive swallow. "No, Bobby," he said finally. "It's Sammy, he's…he's dead, Bobby."

"What?" Bobby's horrified astonishment crackled over the phone lines. "What the hell happened?"

Dean shook his head, his throat and chest both tight. "I don't know. Some sort of accident. I'm heading down to San Francisco to—to claim his body. I don't know any details."

"Dammit," Bobby sighed before a pause and Dean knew he was trying to collect his emotions. "You need me to come down there?"

Dean's heart ached even more at the kindness Bobby offered him, something he couldn't even expect from his own father. "No, I can handle this. But…I might come up and see you after, if that's okay."

"Of course, Dean. Just let me know if you need anything, son."

Dean closed his eyes. "Okay, thanks Bobby." He hung up before he completely dissolved, his head lowering into his hands as he curled up onto the bed. That was when the tears came, finally. He didn't even care that he was sobbing like a baby, it was too much to bear on top of the exhaustion and everything else and he let his emotions flow out of him until he was numb, and too tired to feel anything else, so he finally slipped off to sleep.

* * *

 _Sam didn't know how_ long he had been down in the cellar. He didn't even know how long it had been since he had been taken from the bus. His watch was gone, either lost in the struggle or purposefully taken along with his jacket and any other personal effects he'd had. He seemed to think that it was probably nighttime, his stomach telling him that he had missed at least two meals. He hadn't seen the demon again since he had come to check on him after he woke up. And even then, he hadn't said much, just made Sam feel even more uncomfortable by dropping a few hints. The only thing Sam had been able to figure out was that the demon's name was Carlton—though whether that was the thing's real name, he had doubts—and that it seemed he was waiting for someone before things came to a head. But as for why Sam was actually there, he had no clue, and was not looking forward to finding out.

During the time he was down there, he had taken stock on his surroundings. The cellar wasn't extremely big, which led him to believe it was part of a house and not a business or anything. The end that was lit, had a worktable and various tools and other things on it, and there were some boxes and crates off to one side of that. Sam was being held on the opposite side of the cellar where he could see the entrance to the stairwell that presumably led to the rest of the house. He had been chained with manacles around his wrists to a plaque on the wall that was too high for him to reach—and he had definitely already considered digging it out, but unless he could reach something to stand on and something to do the digging with, he wasn't going to be able to do that either. The chains were annoying, but at least he could move around with them a few feet in either direction. Enough to reach his 'bed' against the wall to the left of where the chains were hooked, and to a bucket in the corner to the right which he presumed, with distaste, was meant to be a crude toilet.

On the plus side, whatever drug the demon—Carlton—had given him seemed to have worn off and his head no longer ached. But he was going stir crazy down there, and on top of that, he wondered what everyone was thinking. Had the police investigated the bus fire? They must have by now, which meant that if they had found his wallet with his ID as Carlton had obviously intended, he would be presumed dead. A pang went through his chest as he thought of Jess and his other friends at Stanford hearing about his 'death', maybe not until it got onto the news. But even worse, was the thought of Dean finding out, and he would, because Sam had listed Dean as his emergency contact.

"No," he said to himself. "He'll know something's up. He'll know I'm not really dead. He won't stop looking, not if they don't have a body to show him." But Sam didn't even know where he was. And what if Dean did give up hope on him? Maybe they wouldn't even get ahold of him for several weeks and by then, Sam would surely be dead anyway, or at least wishing he was, not having high expectations as to what the demons planned to do with him. No, he would have to get out himself. He couldn't afford to put all his faith in his family, even though he had always put every faith he had into his big brother, even after not seeing him for two years. This time, he would have to rescue himself. He just needed to figure out how to go about that.

He was startled from his thoughts by the sound of the door opening above him and the heavy footsteps coming down the stairs. Sam watched nervously as Carlton came into view again, a tray in his hands. He smiled as he saw Sam.

"Hey there, Sam, thought you might be hungry." He set down the tray, which held what looked like a BLT and a glass of water. Sam's mouth watered at the sight of the food and his stomach rumbled, but he wasn't going to eat it. Not yet. Instead, he glared up at the demon.

"What do you want with me?" he asked.

"You keep asking like I'm going to answer," Carlton said with an amused smile. "Like I said, all in good time. My boss will be here tomorrow and that's when the fun will get started. So in the meantime, why don't you eat and get some rest. You'll need it."

He started to walk away, but Sam surged to his feet, following the demon until he was yanked to a stop by the chains, just out of reach. "Wait! At least tell me how you found me. Is this about my dad? Because I'm not going to be used as leverage for one of his stupid mistakes."

Carlton stopped just out of his reach and looked him up and down with a small knowing smile. "Oh, don't worry, Sam. This isn't about dear old dad. In fact, he's way across the country right now following a false lead in Florida. No, this is all about you, Sammy boy. And we're going to have so much fun before this is all over." He winked and turned around, heading back up the stairs.

Sam watched, unable to move. He wanted to come up with some retort, but couldn't think of anything. He was too unnerved by what the demon had said. His dad following a false lead? Why would that even have anything to do with this? And why was it all about him?

Sam's hands shook as he settled back down on his sleeping bag, thinking of the implications. The only thing that made sense in his mind was that this was linked to his mom's death, and if that were the case who knew what was in store for him.

* * *

 _Dean woke blearily,_ feeling horrible like he had the world's worst hangover, but hadn't drunk a drop. He had to physically haul himself from the bed, not wanting to move, but he had already slept later than he had wanted to; it was six am already and he still had a three hour drive to San Francisco.

He threw his bag in the car and went to check out then hit the road. He knew he should probably eat something, but didn't think he could even stomach the thought of food just then. Not before he had to look at his brother's dead body. He would probably just lose whatever he put into his stomach.

He got to the police department just after eight o'clock in the morning and went straight to the desk, telling the officer sitting there what he was there for. He only had to wait a minute before a man, in his early thirties with light brown hair and blue eyes came out to greet him.

"Dean Winchester? I'm Detective Donavan; I'm working the investigation for the accident your brother was involved in. I'm sorry for your loss."

Dean nodded stiffly, shaking his hand.

"Why don't you come into my office so we can talk," the man motioned to one side. "And you look like you can use some coffee."

In another few minutes, Dean was sitting on the other side of the desk from Detective Donavan, with a steaming Styrofoam cup of coffee in his hands. The warmth and caffeine brought him back to life a little, at least enough to ask coherent questions of the detective.

"What exactly happened?" he asked.

Detective Donavan sighed with a wry look. "It was pretty bad, I'm afraid. We still don't know for sure exactly what occurred, our forensics and arson specialists are still trying to determine where and how the fire started."

"Fire?" Dean asked, a cold pit in his stomach that was always there when fires were mentioned. "I thought it was a bus accident, a crash."

Donavan shook his head. "No, the bus was at a stop when it seemed to spontaneously burst into flames. 'Accident' is kind of a general term in this case. We don't even have any good eyewitnesses to tell us what happened. So far they think it might have been a leaky fuel line but that doesn't account for that fact that…sorry, you probably don't want to hear about this."

Dean shook his head, narrowing his eyes as he saw that the detective himself looked someone confused as if he wasn't sure he understood the event yet himself. "No, it's all right, I'd rather know everything I can."

Donavan chewed his lip as if deciding whether he should tell Dean anything. Dean silently urged him to go on and he finally did. "Well, all the doors and windows were sealed. I mean, the glass blew out because of the heat, but they never opened. It's like no one even tried to open them to get out, or they couldn't. To be frank, I've never really seen anything like it. I guess it happened too fast for anyone to even try to get the emergency exit open." He said it like even he didn't believe it.

Dean's frown deepened. Something about this didn't seem right. But he wasn't here to investigate, he was here to get Sam buried. "So, do you need me to identify Sam's… body? I would like to claim him as soon as possible."

The detective's face pinched with sympathy. "I'm afraid there's nothing to claim, Mr. Winchester. Not yet anyway."

"What do you mean?" Dean demanded, anger pulsing through him.

"The fire was so hot that there really wasn't much left of the bodies, nothing recognizable anyway. Just enough to get a head count. They're still working in the lab to get enough DNA and dental records to identify all the victims. It was a miracle we actually even were able to identify your brother so quickly."

Dean frowned. "And why were you, exactly?"

"We found his wallet among the wreckage. It seemed to have miraculously survived the worst of the flames. We contacted Stanford through his student ID and found your number as his emergency contact that way."

"Wait, you just found his wallet? How do you know he was even on the bus when it happened, then?" Dean demanded, suspicious and even a flickering of hope sparking in his chest.

Detective Donavan seemed to see that, and sighed. "Mr. Winchester, I wish I could say that it was because your brother just left his wallet on the bus, but it is nearly impossible odds that he survived, especially since he has been missing from Stanford since yesterday and no one has heard anything from him. I know you would like to think this might mean he's still alive, but I don't want to breed any false hope. I'm very sorry."

Dean bit back the scathing retort on his tongue. It wasn't the detective's fault, and Dean actually was grateful to the guy for telling him straight. Besides, he hadn't seen what Dean had seen in his lifetime. And this whole thing sounded fishy to Dean. At least enough to check out. Because he wasn't about to believe that Sam was dead unless he actually saw proof with his own eyes, and charred remains with dubious origin weren't going to cut it.

"I can give you his wallet though," Donavan said, standing up and going to the set of large pigeonholes that lined one wall holding case files and evidence. "We won't need it anymore for the investigation."

He pulled out a plastic bag and handed it to Dean who took the charred remains of the leather wallet carefully and tucked it into his pocket. "Thanks," he said.

"I wish I could do more," Donavan said sincerely. "I promise I will call you as soon as we know anything more and if we are able to identify your brother's body."

Dean nodded and left shortly afterward. He went back to his car, a thousand thoughts swirling in his head. He didn't know what to think now. Was it possible Sam was still alive? And if he was, where the hell was he? He thought some investigation was in order, he at least owed Sam that much. Even if he was dead, Dean was determined to gank the SOB responsible.

He sat in the driver's seat for a long moment before he pulled the wallet from his pocket. He took it out of the bag and ran his thumb over the half charred leather. Most of the wallet was still intact, however, and he opened it up, seeing Sam's student ID stuffed into the slightly melted clear slot in front. There wasn't much else in the wallet. A debit card to a local credit union with Sam's actual name on it, two half burned twenty dollar bills and a punch card to a sandwich shop. Upon deeper digging, Dean came up with a small photo of Sam and a pretty blond, both of them smiling, and Sam's arms wrapped snuggly around her waist from behind.

"Aw, Sammy," Dean whispered, a new lump forming in his throat as he looked at the picture for a long time before gently placing it back into the wallet, unable to see it anymore. His brother looked so happy, happier than Dean had seen him in years, and now, maybe he would never see him happy again.

But there might be hope, there was always hope until proven otherwise, because if there was one thing Dean was sure of, it was that Winchesters did not die easy, and they certainly didn't die in ridiculous accidents.

He pulled out his phone and dialed Bobby's number again. The older hunter picked up after only a couple rings.

"Dean? What's going on?"

"Hey Bobby, you think you could come down to California after all?" Dean said. "There's something fishy going on with this whole thing, and… I think it's possible Sammy's not dead after all."

There was a longsuffering sigh on the other end, but Dean could detect a small bit of hope. "Is anything ever easy with you boys?"

"Not if we can help it," Dean said, already feeling a little better now that he had a purpose.

"All right, I'll call you when I cross the border."

Dean hung up and pulled out of the parking lot. He had a feeling he knew where to start looking for clues.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks as always to everyone who has read and reviewed and followed :) You'll get to see a little about why the demons wanted Sam in this chapter.**

Chapter Three

Sam woke to the sound of the door at the top of the stairs creaking open. He jolted upright, rubbing a hand over his face with a clank of chains. He hadn't meant to fall asleep, but his body apparently had other ideas. Did that mean it was morning? He hated being stuck down there with no way to tell the time.

Carlton came into the basement as expected, followed by a woman, which was not expected. She was short and dark-haired with a smirk on her lips as she swept Sam with her eyes.

"Rise and shine, Sam," Carlton said, and put another tray down beside him; this one contained a bowl of thin, nasty-looking oatmeal and another glass of water. "Eat up, it's a big day today."

"Please just tell me what you want me for," Sam sighed, exhausted, and angry that he hadn't been able to get anything from them.

"Oh, don't worry," the woman said, likely another demon, Sam decided. "You'll find out soon enough, but we're not going to spoil the surprise."

"Please!" Sam tried again, getting to his feet.

"Sit down," the female demon said and lazily waved her hand, shoving Sam with an invisible force against the wall. "If you're that impatient, I can think of a few ways to pass the time." She smiled suggestively, making Sam's skin crawl.

"Kara," Carlton called to her. "Let's leave him to eat his breakfast for now."

"Another time then," she said and went back up the stairs with Carlton following. Sam watched them go, unease roiling in his stomach. How many demons were there? For a while he had hoped it might just be Carlton, but now he couldn't be sure how many others there were. He would have to find out if he was planning on plotting an escape, though. Maybe they would take him out of the cellar when this 'boss' they mentioned came. Not that he was looking forward to this meeting, but if it could get him a look at the place he was being kept, it might make it easier to find a way out.

He glanced at the breakfast they had given him. The oatmeal looked anything but appetizing, and when he picked up the bowl he found it to be lukewarm, but he ate it anyway, because if nothing else he should keep up his strength, not knowing what might be in store for him in the near future.

It seemed like several more hours before he heard the door open again. This time Carlton didn't have Kara with him, but he did have another man in tow, concealed in the shadows.

"Hey, Sam," Carlton said, striding over to smile at his prisoner. "Remember when I mentioned my boss to you? Well, he really wants to meet you."

"Thank you, Carlton," the man said, stepping out of the shadowed corner so Sam could see him fully now. A chill went down his spine unbidden; there was definitely something about this man, something evil, something that definitely triggered Sam's fight or flight response. He didn't really look like anything special. He was dressed in a nice business suit, looking like he could have passed for a CEO, with a clean-shaven jaw and well groomed blond hair. He smiled as he watched Sam study him. "Hello Sam, it's nice to finally meet you."

Sam sat up straight, watching him cautiously. "Who are you?"

"You can call me Steven," the man said with a shrug.

"Is that your real name?" Sam asked, already knowing the answer.

"Steven" chuckled. "Well, it's the name of this year's model," he said, motioning to himself, or rather, the body he was possessing. "You don't need to concern yourself with my real name now, Sam, that's not important. You're the one I'm concerned about. I just have a few questions to ask you, and if you answer them truthfully, we can get through this with no trouble and you'll be free to go."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, like I'm going to believe that."

"Why not?" Steven asked, cocking his head to one side.

"You're a demon," Sam snarled. "You lie. I already told your yes-man there that I wasn't going to be used as leverage. I'm not telling you anything until you can at least prove that my family isn't locked away somewhere in here about to die if I don't answer your questions correctly."

Steven smiled. "Well, you are the smart one, aren't you? I see why you were able to get that scholarship now. Well, I can't really prove anything to you, I'm afraid, but I can tell you that if I had wanted your brother or your daddy here, I wouldn't have sent John off on a wild goose chase to Miami, and Dean, well, he's not far at all, and would be so easy to nab. But we don't need them, not if you cooperate, which I have no doubt that you will do, Sam."

Sam glared at him. "Wanna bet?"

Steven smiled again. "Maybe you should just hear me out first. The questions are simple. Let's try one, shall we? Have you been having any odd dreams lately?"

Sam frowned, actually genuinely surprised. "What?"

"You know what I'm asking, Sam. Any reoccurring nightmares?"

Sam actually laughed. "What are you my psychiatrist? What kind of question is that?"

"You've never dreamed of anything that might have come true?" Steven asked, shrugging. "Nothing like that?"

"No!" Sam shouted. "Why would you ask that?"

"Hm," Steven said, rubbing a hand over his chin. "This does complicate things. Kind of makes me look like a fool for asking. Unless…you're lying to me, Sam."

Sam just stared at him. Even for a demon, this guy was whacked. "I'm not lying, I have no idea what you're talking about."

Steven crouched down suddenly in front of him and Sam flinched back before he could stop himself. The casual stance was gone, and the demon's eyes were hard now. "Really? Because, no offense, Sam, but I have a hard time believing that. So, if it isn't dreams, is it something else? Ever get angry, Sam? Ever have something strange happen when you do? Maybe someone does something you tell them to without question, or a glass inexplicably flies off the table?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Sam demanded, losing patience quickly. This man—demon—was insane. "No, nothing like that ever happens!"

Steven sighed resignedly, standing up again. "Well, I guess we'll just have to do this the hard way. If you refuse to talk, Sam, I'll have to get Carlton here to make you."

Sam swallowed hard, seeing the glee enter the other demon's eyes. He shook his head. "It won't make any difference, I don't know what you're talking about."

"Then we'll get you to learn what I'm talking about," Steven said, nodding to Carlton who went over to the workbench on the other side of the room. He opened a box and Sam tried to see what he was fiddling with, but he couldn't. He shuddered when Steven reached out and grabbed his chin, tipping his head back to look at him.

"I really didn't want to have to do this, Sam, but if I don't push you, you'll never realize your full potential."

Before Sam could even make sense of what the demon was saying, Carlton came back over to him then with a syringe in his hand. Sam instantly tried to stand up even though he knew he wouldn't get far, but Steven immobilized him with his demon mojo and Carlton quickly grabbed Sam's arm and stuck the needle into the crook of his elbow.

"What is that?" Sam demanded, already feeling woozy and strange.

"Nothing too exotic," Steven told him, pressing him down onto the sleeping bag. "Just sleep, Sam, we'll talk again when you wake up."

Sam tried to protest, but his tongue was heavy, and he couldn't seem to claw his way out of the darkness that was coming for him, so to his shame, he surrendered.

* * *

 _Dean got to Stanford_ around noon. He wasn't really sure where to start, but he parked just off campus and with a deep breath, he got out of the car and headed toward the main offices. He didn't want to announce his presence, but he thought that maybe he could break into the records room during someone's lunch break and see Sam's file to find out where he was staying. He thought if maybe he found his dorm room or whatever he could find some clue as to what, or rather _who,_ had happened to his little brother. Because the more Dean thought about this, the more he suspected foul play. Just the way Detective Donavan had looked when he spoke about the 'accident' told him even he thought it was no accident. And when even the 'civilians' saw something hinky Dean knew that was time to pay attention. The only question was, was this supernatural or something else?

He didn't get as far as the university offices, though, because he stumbled across a group of people standing outside one of the buildings and curiosity got the better of him, heading him off in that direction. As he got closer, his heart stuttered in his chest as he realized everyone was standing around what looked to be a memorial. A memorial for Sam.

A lump formed in Dean's throat as he saw the table with a picture of Sam and several bunches of flowers. It looked like people were writing notes in a book set there, and Dean didn't even know what to think. His brother had a life here, he had friends and people who cared that he was gone, people other than his little, insignificant family. Dean was partly happy, partly crushed. It had been the thing he had wanted most for Sam for as long as he could remember, but at the same time, this was so obviously a part of Sam's life that Dean wasn't a part of. A life their hardships, their childhood, never touched. None of these people knew how to kill a vampire or what a wendigo was; they were…normal. Sam was living a normal life and Dean wasn't sure what to think about that. Deep down, though, he was a bit envious.

Before he could think anymore about that, he spotted the girl from Sam's picture, standing off to one side of the group, her eyes red from crying and two others, a guy and another girl, with their arms around her in comfort. Sammy's girlfriend.

His first instinct was to go straight over to her and tell her who he was, why he was there, but something stopped him. She had obviously cared about Sam a lot and Sam about her. If he told her his crazy theory, who knew what she would do. Even he wasn't one hundred percent certain Sam was alive (though his gut was telling him he was right) and he couldn't put that on her shoulders. Besides, he had no idea where any of this was going to lead. He could get her in trouble or killed and then Sam would never forgive him. He couldn't imagine Sam telling this girl about his obsessed father and the family business and he wasn't about to let those worlds collide. Not without Sam's consent. If everything went well, he could deliver her boyfriend back to her safe and sound and no one had to be the wiser. But he was going to have to do this alone and leave Sam's friends out of it. He owed his brother that much for actually succeeding in making a normal life of his own here.

But that didn't mean he wasn't going to find out as much as he could on his own. Trying to ignore the memorial and the people mourning his brother, he headed toward the offices and set about his plan of checking the records. He was in luck, because he seemed to get there just in time to see the secretary leave for lunch, locking the door behind her. It took Dean under a minute to pick the lock and slip inside, heading straight over to the file cabinets.

He went to the Ws and flipped through, looking for Sam's file. He pulled it up in record time and quickly scanned the info. His address was listed as an apartment in Palo Alto, surprising Dean that he was off campus and in his own place. Maybe he had picked up a job while he was here. Dean quickly wrote it down and was about to put the file back when he caught sight of something that made him stop. There was another name as a secondary emergency contact, and it wasn't either of the people Dean expected it to be. It wasn't their dad or Bobby, but a Jessica Miller.

Dean put the file away and went to the Ms where he quickly pulled up Miss Miller's file, seeing, as he suspected, the pretty blond who was Sam's girlfriend.

"What the…oh Sammy, this must have been serious." He couldn't help a small chuckle as he saw Jessica's address listed to be the same as Sam's. Armed with this new information, and Jessica's class schedule, he made a quick exit of the office and headed back out to his car, on his way to Palo Alto, hoping to find a clue in Sam's apartment that could lead him to where his little brother was.

* * *

 _Sam floated back to_ something that wasn't really reality, but was close enough to it. It felt better than what he thought reality would anyway. He'd had a confused sleep of tangled dreams and memories, not able to distinguish which ones were which, but the one thing he did remember was fire. No matter what he dreamed, it always seemed to come back to that. And he was inexplicably afraid of it. Watched it almost consume him until he was yanked away by someone he could never see. This dream was repeated, mixed with all the others, until he was suddenly ripped from sleep by a shock of cold.

Sam surged upright, gasping for breath, and realized seconds later that he was dripping with freezing water. He shook, shivering, everything muddled between reality and hallucination. His brain wasn't functioning properly and his head spun when he looked around so that he had to slump back against the wall behind him. He tried to raise a hand to his head put it was so heavy and something was wrapped around it making it heavier.

Eventually, a blurry figure loomed in front of him, a voice speaking that sounded like it was being filtered through water.

"Welcome back, Sam, sleep well?"

Sam tried to speak, but his tongue wouldn't work. There was a sigh in front of him. "Give him another."

Sam yelled when a second bucket of freezing water was poured over him, but it did bring back some clarity. He panted for breath and yelped when a hand slapped him across the face.

"Wake up, Sam!" the voice yelled and Sam was finally able to focus on the figure. He tried to put a name to the blond man, and finally came up with Steven, the demon. The boss.

"There we go," Steven said with a small smile, sitting back on his heels. "How did you sleep, Sam? What did you dream?"

Sam frowned, shaking his head. "I-I don't really remember." He was confused. He knew he shouldn't tell the demon anything, but something was wrong with how his brain was working. It wasn't talking to his mouth well or something. Probably thanks to whatever they had shot him up with.

"Think about it. Anything particular?"

"Fire," Sam said without thinking and instantly berated himself. He wasn't telling this demon anything, remember?

Steven nodded encouragingly. "Good. Good start, what else?"

Sam stopped himself from replying again and instead focused a glare on his captor. "Nothing."

Steven sighed, standing up and putting his hands in the pockets of his suit jacket. "Oh, Sam, you're not going to make this easy, are you?"

"I don't see what you're trying to accomplish," Sam said, trying to look defiant when he was shivering uncontrollably, soaking wet.

"Maybe another dose will help," Steven said and nodded to Carlton again.

"No!" Sam shouted, pushing himself to his feet and trying to move before he remembered his chains. Carlton came back over to him with another syringe, which he handed to Steven before he grabbed Sam's wrists, forcing him against the wall. Sam struggled and fought, kicking at the demon, but Carlton was stronger and he wrestled Sam to the ground none-too-gently and held him there as Steven crouched to deliver another dose of the drug.

"Don't get too comfortable, Sammy-boy. This is only the beginning."

Sam gave up struggling as he watched the syringe disappear into his arm in defeat. He glared up at the two smirking demons.

"I'm not going to give you what you want," he spat as he felt himself starting to go under again.

"Whatever gets you through the day, Sam," he heard Steven say before he once again surrendered to the darkness.


	4. Chapter 4

**On to chapter Four! Thanks again for everyone who has read and reviewed!**

Chapter Four

Dean drove into Palo Alto and found the address to Sam's apartment easily enough. It was only a short drive from the college, within walking distance even, if you were determined enough. Dean wondered if his brother had a bicycle or something; that seemed like a Sam thing to do.

The apartment was modest, small and probably cheep, but Dean knew—hoped—it was home to Sam, something he had never experienced. He almost felt voyeuristic as he set about picking the lock to get in. It was still weird for him to think that Sam had this whole life away from him. Maybe it was selfish, Dean wasn't really sure how to explain the way he felt. It was just that he and Sam had grown up together in close quarters, closer than most siblings as he had pretty much raised Sam all by himself, and now there was this whole life Sam was living that he knew nothing about. They never talked anymore, and Dean wasn't even sure why. He just had never really thought of this before. The idea of Sam at college had been to him more like a pause in Sam's life that would resume when he came back to Dean, but he had created his own world here or at least that was what it felt like to Dean. Because Dean hadn't changed. Same job, same car, same clothes, same music; the only thing missing was his little brother, and this whole horrible thing had really made Dean realize how much he hadn't been living the last two years that Sam had been gone. Sure, they weren't exactly living the highlife before, but Dean had always felt more alive around Sam. He offered a purpose—looking after his little brother—and without that, Dean didn't know who he was. How messed up was that?

"Get ahold of yourself," he scolded himself under his breath as his hands fumbled with the lock picks.

The fumble turned out to be fortunate, however, because he happened to look up and saw a car pulling up to the curb with Jessica Moore at the wheel.

Dean cursed and made a hasty retreat as he dashed around the complex and down some stairs as Jessica made her way up to the door of her apartment. She still looked like she was crying and Dean felt a pang in his chest. He wanted nothing more than to go and tell her that Sam wasn't dead, but he had already decided that was a horrible idea. Hopefully he wouldn't have to keep her in pain too much longer.

She fumbled with her keys and dropped them before she was able to get inside the apartment. Dean bit his lip. He couldn't search the place now, he would have to wait until later, maybe go grab something to eat and see where Bobby was.

He went back to the Impala and drove around until he found a café where he got some lunch then went back to the street the apartment was on and parked the Impala in a less noticeable place where he could still see the apartment. He figured Jessica probably didn't know the car, and maybe not even who Dean was, but he wasn't going to take chances either.

After he finished his lunch he picked up his phone and dialed Bobby. The older hunter picked up after a few rings.

"Yeah?" he said in greeting.

"Hey, Bobby, just wondering where you're at," Dean said.

"I'm almost to the border, I should be there in Palo Alto in a few hours. You find anything?"

"Not really," Dean said. "I found the address to Sam's apartment, I was going to check it out and see if I can find any clues. Don't know what I'm looking for."

"Well, we'll scour the place if we have to. Once I get there, I'll start looking through local papers and see if there's been anything suspicious going on lately. You just keep a look out and be careful. If something did come after Sam then it might not mind having you too. Who knows if this isn't something John got caught up in."

"The thought crossed my mind," Dean said grimly. "Still haven't heard from him."

"Well, I guess we'll just have to do this one solo," Bobby said. "Just don't do anything stupid until I get there. I'll see you then."

They ended the call and Dean sat back, ready for his stakeout, even though everything in him screamed to be tearing up the town for his brother. He took out Sam's wallet again and found the picture of him and Jessica.

"You better not prove me wrong, Sammy," he said. "You can't be dead; not with this babe waiting for you." But even if Sam wasn't dead, Dean didn't even want to consider what state he was in right now. Because when did the Winchesters ever have it easy?

* * *

 _Sam was woken with_ another bucket of freezing water thrown over him. He gasped, the act of drawing air back into his lungs an enormous effort. Someone grabbed a handful of his sopping wet hair and yanked his head back, forcing him to open his eyes, seeing Carlton crouching over him, hauling him into a sitting position.

"Wake up," he commanded, patting his cheeks none-too-gently.

"Are you lucid, Sam?" that other voice, smooth and deceptively soothing. The demon who called himself Steven again. Sam's eyes focused on him, trying to glare.

"Any more dreams?" Steven asked him. He had a chair now that he was sitting in, one leg crossed over the other casually, again reminding Sam of a businessman. "What was it last time, you said? Fire?"

Sam shook his head to clear it. "I don't have dreams like that, I don't know what you want me to tell you."

Steven breathed out his nose, sounding impatient. "Perhaps this tactic isn't working out for the best. Or maybe you have yet to perfect this talent. I think we should move on to something else." He stood up and pulled something out of his pocket before crouching in front of Sam. The young man watched warily as Steven held out his hand and opened it, palm up, revealing a small smooth river stone.

Steven smiled as he saw Sam's confusion. "Why don't you try to move this, Sam."

"With what, my mind?" Sam asked sarcastically, getting really tired of these stupid games. He was freezing and wet and woozy from the drugs they had forced into him.

Steven quirked an eyebrow. "What else?"

Sam's eyes widened. Was he actually serious? "You're insane. I don't know who you think I am or what you think I can do, but you have the wrong guy."

"Oh, no, Sam," Steven said solemnly, shaking his head. "I don't make those mistakes. I remember all of you."

A shiver went down Sam's spine that had nothing to do with his wet clothes. "All—all of us? What does that mean?"

But Steven just smiled, obviously not willing to give out that information. This just sent Sam over the edge.

"What do you want from me?" he shouted in the demon's face, making his head pound.

Steven's face darkened. "I want you to show me what you can do. Use the gift you were given."

Sam glared at him. "I don't have a gift," he ground out. "I'm not psychic if that's what you think and even if I _were_ , I certainly wouldn't sing and dance just because a demon told me to!"

Steven stood up, angry now. "You don't think so? I complimented you earlier for being smart, Sam, don't make the mistake of underestimating me. You're not that stupid. Your father might be an obsessed lunatic, but he taught you better than that. So I'll give you an offer, because I do like you, Sam, I really do, and I don't want to have to make this nasty. You try what I ask you to do and when we get results, I'll let you go back to the nice little life you cut out for yourself. How does that sound?"

Sam glared up at him. "How about a counter offer? Go screw yourself!"

Steven's hand moved almost too quickly to see, slamming into Sam's face and flinging him to the floor, his right cheek throbbing, and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth where he had bit his tongue. He pushed himself up to his elbows, looking up at the demon who stood over him, no longer effecting a pleasant attitude.

"You will learn to respect me, boy. I might regret killing you, but it won't really be the end of the world either, so don't think you're safe. I'll be back tomorrow to see if your attitude has improved, and I'll leave Carlton to help it along."

Sam watched him leave, feeling helplessly trapped before he turned to see Carlton grinning at him and cracking his knuckles.

"Don't worry, boss, he'll be perfectly compliant tomorrow."

Sam knew what was coming but it still didn't make it any better when the first pounding fist landed, cutting the skin across his cheek bone. He fell down with a yelp and tried to curl into a ball as Carlton continued the beating adding kicks to his sides and back. His world dissolved into pain until finally a kick to the head sent him under and he didn't exactly greet the darkness unkindly.

* * *

 _It was nearly nighttime_ when there was movement in the apartment again. Bobby had called and said he had gotten to town, but Dean had told him to get a room somewhere and he would join him there later not knowing how long he would be staking out the apartment. After that he had been dozing and he started awake when he heard a door shut. He shook himself back to wakefulness and watched as Jessica locked the apartment door and headed out to her car. Dean had hoped she would leave earlier, and had begun to think that she was going to stay there all day, already obviously skipping classes, but it seemed he would get his chance after all. Maybe they were having some memorial service for Sam. Dean felt sick to his stomach at the thought, but pushed that aside. His brother wasn't dead and he was going to prove it. But he had to have something to prove it with first, so he needed to get to work.

He left the Impala where it was parked and walked down the street to the apartment. This time he picked the lock smoothly and slipped inside the darkened place.

There was a kitchen to the right that he ignored, at least for now, as it probably wouldn't give him any clues. He pulled out his flashlight and searched the small living room, finding nothing more than a bunch of textbooks and loose papers and a few recreational books and movies and a couple pictures. He even looked for hex bags even though this didn't smell like witches to him. That at least was one thing to be thankful for.

With a sigh, he moved to the bedroom and shook off the feeling of how wrong this was. He took a deep breath and began to look through everything, both Sam's and Jessica's (and he didn't even linger in her underwear drawer) but nothing stood out to him. Nothing but the fact that Sam had very few possessions and only about enough clothes to wear for a week before washing. He only found one pair of jeans, and knew Sam must be wearing another. He still lived like he had to pack everything in a duffle bag. Dean frowned, maybe Sam hadn't quite settled into his new life as well as he had hoped, but then again, a lifetime of habits were hard to break.

It wasn't until he looked around the room a second time that he smelled something vaguely familiar, yet he couldn't place it at first. He frowned, looking around and heading toward a window. There was something on the sill and he touched it, bringing his fingers to his nose. The rotten egg smell of sulfur assaulted his senses and his worst fears were confirmed.

"Aw, Sammy, what have you gotten into this time?"

* * *

 _Sam woke to a much_ more soothing sensation than he had previously. It took him a while to surface from unconsciousness and when he did he wished he hadn't. His whole body hurt, he wasn't even sure of all the places it hurt yet, just that it was sort of all encompassing. But yet, he still managed to feel comfortable for some reason. There was something soft and warm under his cheek and it took him a minute before he recognized the touch of gentle fingers stroking through his hair. He frowned at this. Those things didn't go with this situation. Instantly, he thought of fire, a beautiful woman he only recalled from pictures, some lost memory that his dreams earlier had recalled, but he squeezed his eyes until they went away, too painful.

"Sam?"

He forced his eyes open, finding with some disappointment that he was still in the cellar, but someone else was there. He rolled onto his back and instantly wished he hadn't as pain erupted through him. But he soon forgot the pain as he saw who was there with him. A familiar smile and the owner of the soothing fingers.

"Jess?" Sam asked, confused at first, before horror struck him and he sat up despite his body singing with pain and his vision blackening with the sudden change in position. His hands were on her face, looking her up and down to check for injuries. "Are you all right? What are you doing here?"

"It's okay, Sam, I'm fine," she said, still smiling. Sam was instantly on guard. Something didn't seem right. Her voice seemed off, as well as that smile. Maybe it was just his muddled head, but…

"What is it, Sam?" Jess asked, frowning now, reaching out to trace a finger over a bruise on his cheek.

Sam stiffened. "You're not Jess, are you?" he demanded.

Jess looked indignant, but then a slow cruel smile that Sam could never imagine on his girlfriend's face pulled at her lips. "Bingo. You are smart, aren't you, Sam?" Her eyes flashed black, making Sam sick.

"You get out of her right now!" Sam shouted.

The demon wearing Jessica laughed, smoothing her hands down her borrowed body as if it were no more than a coat. "I like this one so much better than the other chick. Blonds do have more fun."

"Kara?" Sam inquired, knowing he was right from the smile. He snarled at her. "Don't you dare hurt her, I will kill you, do you hear me?!"

"Oh, don't get your panties in a bunch, Sam," the demon said dismissively. "I'm not going to hurt her, in fact sweet, innocent Jess doesn't even know she's being possessed. As far as she's concerned, she's getting a good night's rest and she'll wake up tomorrow without any recollection of this, or…" she slid close to Sam and took his chin in her hand. "Of how close she got to her dead boyfriend." Sam's body filled with disgust as Kara used Jess's lips to kiss him. He swore he would make the demon pay for this. Thankfully, after that, she pulled away and stood up. "This is a warning, Sam. We know your weaknesses and we will use them if you don't cooperate. So if you don't want poor, naïve little Jess to know about how dark the world really is, I suggest you give Steven what he wants tomorrow. That beating Carlton gave you earlier was just a warm-up. You wouldn't want the same courtesy to be paid to your girlfriend here, I assume."

Sam's glare said everything he needed to, unable to form the words of hatred he felt toward these demons. Kara smiled and turned around, heading toward the stairs. "I'm going to go put Jessica back to bed now. But think about it, Sam. And sleep well."

Sam watched her go, seething, and sick to his stomach. He would never forgive himself if something happened to Jessica because of this, but he knew he couldn't deliver what Steven wanted him to. So how the hell was he going to get out of this without losing everyone he loved?


	5. Chapter 5

**Back with another chapter! More Sam whump in this one poor baby. Hope you all enjoy!**

Chapter Five

Dean drove to the address of the motel Bobby had given him and saw the older hunter's truck parked out front. Dean grabbed his bag and headed toward the room, knocking before Bobby opened the door and greeted him with a splash of holy water.

Dean sputtered, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. "What the hell, Bobby?"

The hunter pulled him into the room and uncocked the pistol he held in his hand, setting it on the small table. "Better safe than sorry, boy, now come here." Dean got another surprise as Bobby pulled him into a rough hug, but he hugged the older man back, some of the tension that had been pent up inside of him for the last few days leaving.

"How're you doing, Dean?" Bobby asked as he pulled away, studying the young man in a way that had always made Dean feel that hiding things was a pointless endeavor.

"Better," he answered truthfully with a shrug. "At least I have something to do. But we have a problem Bobby, I think I know what took Sam." He sat down at the table and accepted the beer Bobby pulled from the fridge. "I went to his apartment and I found sulfur. I think its demons."

"Well that makes sense," Bobby said, not sounding as surprised as Dean thought he would. He motioned to a pile of local newspapers on the table. "There's a crapload of demon sign in the surrounding area. Lightning storms over the town the last few days, cattle deaths in the surrounding rural areas. It's practically textbook and big." He shook his head, shifting through several of the paper clippings he had set aside.

"What do you mean big?" Dean asked.

"I mean, more than your typical demonic disturbance. I've only tracked a few demons in my time, but usually they cause about a third the ferocity of these disturbances and in smaller areas. So it's either a whole lot of demons, or one VIP demon."

Dean swallowed hard, the sick feeling that had settled in his stomach since this thing started only getting stronger. "But it still leads to the question of why demons would take Sam in the first place."

Bobby gave a tired sigh, before he looked across the table and met Dean's eyes. "Dean, son, I know you want to think your brother is still alive, but the odds are against it. I want it to be true as much as you, but you may have to face the fact that he's not walking away from this."

Dean glared at the older hunter. "I know he's not dead, Bobby. I can feel it. Something strange is happening here, I just don't know what."

Bobby sighed and rubbed a hand tiredly over his eyes. "Neither do I. But you're right about there being something strange. I haven't seen demon sign like this in a long time. I'm going to need to do a little research into it. Tomorrow I was planning on going up to San Francisco and checking out the wreckage, see if it has any demon sign on it. You wanna come?"

Dean shook his head. "No, I think I'll stay here and scout around some more. I just have this feeling that Sam is closer than we think."

"Alright, well, you need to get some sleep, you look like hell."

Dean sighed but didn't try to argue. "I'm gonna find him, Bobby," he said firmly. "And then I'm gonna kill the son of a bitch who took him."

"I know you will," Bobby replied resignedly. "I just want you to be careful. We don't know what we're walking into here."

"I know," Dean replied already slipping into one of the beds fully clothed and asleep almost before he stopped talking. Bobby shook his head. And crossed the room to pull the blanket over him a little more.

"I just hope you have a brother to find. The last thing I want is for you to turn into your father."

* * *

 _Sam slept fitfully_ that night. His body ached from the beating—sure it hadn't been the worst one he'd had in his life, but it had been two years since getting tossed around was a normal occurrence. Dean would likely say he was getting soft. And then there was the fact the demons somehow knew about Jess. The thought made him sick with fear. It would be so easy for them to use her as leverage for whatever they wanted and Sam had nothing to give. He had no idea why Steven seemed to be asking him about psychic abilities or whatever, but he knew he had the wrong person. Sam had hoped he was done with all of that when he went to collage; and yet part of him had begun to think that he was an idiot to ever think he could escape it. He should have known. You didn't leave the life. And now if he had somehow inadvertently pulled Jess into this and she got hurt or worse, he would never forgive himself.

Carlton and Steven came down at a time Sam assumed to be the next morning. How many days had he even been here? He didn't know now. Between the beatings and the drug induced stupors, he had no idea how much time had passed since he had been captured.

Carlton smirked as he saw him try to sit upright, and Sam figured he looked a sight.

"Feeling a little under the weather today, Sammy?" the demon asked with a false pout.

"It's Sam," he ground out, his skin crawling at the use of his nickname. The one only Dean was ever allowed to call him, even though he still hated it—what he wouldn't give for his brother to call him that again.

Carlton chuckled. "Whatever, Sammy. Hope you're not hungry, we thought cutting your rations might help loosen your tongue a little more."

Sam's stomach instantly growled to his dismay. He would even take the disgusting oatmeal if it meant something to eat. He was starving and even more thirsty.

"Anyway, I hope you're feeling more cooperative today, because the boss here has some more things he wants you to try."

Sam glared up at Steven as the demon took a seat in the same chair he had the day before—or, whenever it had been. "That's right Sam. Did you learn your lesson last time you disobeyed me?"

Sam didn't say anything, just kept his gaze level. Steven heaved a sigh and shrugged. "Well, it's no skin off my nose if you want to continue to defy me. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt though." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the rock again. "Come on now, Sam. I want you to try to move this rock. Just concentrate and try to knock it from my hand. I know you can do it."

"For the last time, I can't do what you're asking," Sam told him in exasperation. "It doesn't matter how much you threaten me, I can't _physically_ do what you want me to."

"You _can_ , and you _will_ ," Steven told him firmly. "You just haven't _tried_. You have to open your mind, Sam. The talent is in there, you just have to let it out."

"When will you listen?" Sam cried, surging to his feet and biting back the wince. "I'm not psychic. People generally aren't, and I've seen a hell of a lot of weird, trust me. But if anyone was, it wouldn't be me. It can't be me."

"Why, Sam?" Steven asked, standing up and stepping closer to him. "Because you're just a normal boy with a normal life and a future and a pretty girlfriend? Did it ever occur to you that all those times as a kid when you thought you were a freak that you hit the mark closer than even you knew?"

"I'm not a freak," Sam said firmly.

"But you are, Sam," Steven said then smiled, the expression sending chills up Sam's spine. "And it's okay. You don't have to be ashamed of it. You'll always have a place with me." He held up the stone again, his palm open between them. "Now, how about you try and move the stone, Sam."

"Bite me!" Sam slapped the stone out of his hand, a defiant snarl on his lips. "There, I moved it."

His back slammed against the wall and he gasped for breath as he felt Steven's hand tighten around his throat, the demon's face only inches from his, breath smelling of sulfur. "I will only put up with your insolence so long, you ungrateful little bastard. One more little stunt like that and I'm going to have my demons pay a visit to pretty little Jessica and then I'll let you watch as they tear her apart. Or maybe burn her, just like Mommy."

Sam struggled against him. "You son of a bitch, you touch her and I'll kill you, I swear, I will send you back to hell!"

Steven laughed at that. "Sure, you can try, but it won't get rid of me forever. You have to learn respect, boy." Sam doubled over with a grunt as a fist hammered into his stomach before Steven slammed him back against the wall again. He still had one hand around Sam's throat, but his other was clenching into a fist. Sam readied for another punch, but instead was hit by a wave of agony that felt like his insides were being torn out of him. He screamed, even though he had no breath to do so, gasping at the pain that was so much worse than he had ever experienced. Steven stared at him as he continued to torture him, watching his reaction then loosened both hands and Sam collapsed on the ground, gasping for breath and curling around the phantom pain in his torso.

"That is the kind of thing you can learn if you put your mind to it, Sam," Steven told him, stepping away. "I'll let you think on that a while, but this isn't the end, boy, this is only the beginning."

He climbed the stairs as Carlton crouched over Sam, gripping a handful of his hair roughly and forcing his head up to look at him. "Get comfy, Sammy-boy. There's a long road ahead of you."

He stood and kicked Sam in the ribs for good measure then left the basement. Sam stayed still for a while until he was sure they were gone, then he sat up slowly with a wince and reached into his jeans pocket. The pain of the beating had been worth it this time, because Steven hadn't noticed when Sam lifted his pen. He smiled to himself as he stripped the pen determinedly. Steven could talk all he wanted but if he thought Sam was going to sit there and listen indefinitely, he was wrong.

He was going to get out of there.

* * *

" _Well, what did you find_?" Dean asked Bobby as the older hunter came back to the motel room with a pizza he had picked up on the way back from San Francisco.

"Enough to confirm our fears," the older hunter said, dropping the box down on the table and taking off his suit jacket from his FBI get-up. "There were traces of sulfur all over the wreckage, and, boy, accident is an understatement. The whole damn thing was a shell, there's no way any arson inspector would rule that as an accident, or even natural. It takes serious juice to burn something like that."

"Yeah, demonic juice," Dean said as he grabbed a couple beers out of the mini-fridge and sat down to eat some pizza. "The detective I talked to seemed to think it was weird too. Guess that one's going to the X-Files."

"Well, I just hope they don't decide to investigate too closely. The last thing we need are civilians getting themselves killed because they tried to poke their noses into a demon nest or whatever the hell this is. You find anything today?"

Dean sighed as he leaned back in his chair. "I kind of just scouted around for suspicious activity, but didn't really come up with anything."

"You think you should try talking to people over at the college?" Bobby asked, raising an eyebrow.

Dean bit his lip. "Yeah, I just…I feel I owe it to Sam to not let our crazy lives spill over into this new one he's created for himself. It just doesn't seem right."

"Well, it's a little late for that, don't you think?" Bobby asked sarcastically. "Besides, if he's…"

"Don't say it, Bobby!" Dean snapped. "He's not dead!"

Bobby sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "Sorry, son. I'm just worried if you keep telling yourself that you're not going to be able to accept it _if_ it's actually true."

Dean's fist clenched on the table, his knuckles whitening. He tried to calm himself, not able to afford getting mad at Bobby now. He was silent a long time before he said, "They're having a thing for Sam at the college tonight. A candlelight vigil or some crap." He chuckled dryly, shaking his head. "If Sammy could see it…anyway, I guess I could go, scout it out. No one has to know I'm there, but I could see if there was anything suspicious."

"You think that's a good idea?"

Dean took a deep breath. "No, I don't. But what else can we do, Bobby? Every day we spend trying to find clues is another day Sam has to spend with those black-eyed bastards and who knows what they're doing to him. We don't have any leads, this might at least be a shot at some info."

"Alright, well, I'm going to run to the library and do some research; try and track previous demonic omens of this magnitude to see if I can find any patterns."

"Sounds good," Dean said and went off to take a shower, not even realizing he left his piece of pizza half eaten. Bobby sighed and shook his head, grabbing his keys before heading out the door.

An hour later, Dean was on campus at Stanford again. Years ago, when Sam was still in high school, he had thought about the future—after Sam had gotten the scholarship and before they had ruined everything by telling their dad. He had always pictured a campus that he would visit every so often to catch up with his geek brother, go out on the town to get Sam's head out of his books, spend the holidays together. Maybe even crash in his dorm room if he was passing through and just wanted to say hi for a day or two. And yeah, meet the girlfriend, because his brother would have to have one; Sam was too sweet to not instantly win the hearts of all the girls on campus.

But then John had kicked Sam out when he said he wanted to leave. Just kicked him out to fend for himself, and Dean, like the coward he was, had been too shocked to even do anything about it. Sure, Sam had been the one to step out the door, and maybe Dean had felt abandoned by him, but thinking of the way he felt when he had lost his little brother always made this dark pit in his chest. He should have been there for Sam, he should have still gone to visit him, but there was something about the whole situation that he couldn't face. Like he knew that when Sam stepped out that door, he wasn't just leaving the hunting life, he was leaving his family as well, and Dean couldn't quite bring himself to ruin the chance Sam had to be normal by dropping in on him even though he wanted to. Sometimes he wanted to see his brother so bad he would have driven across the country without sleep, and he almost had on several occasions when John was off on a hunt and he was left alone with only himself for company. The last two years had been dark for Dean, he wasn't going to deny it, but he would never admit it to Sam either. If he ever got to see him again.

He forced his dark thoughts away and strode across campus to the place where the memorial was being held. It wasn't very big, but to Dean's eyes, the amount of people there who cared enough about his brother to come to it was staggering and made him happy and sad at the same time. He also realized as he stood there and listened to the people talk about Sam—not just students, he saw, but professors and college staff—and the students hugging Jessica Moore and offering words of comfort, that he couldn't do this. He couldn't stand there and watch and mingle with people who believed Sam was dead, who had given up on him already even though he'd only been gone for less than a week. They might mean well, but to Dean it was slightly insulting. No one gave up on his little brother.

Dean turned around then and headed back to his car. He couldn't do this, he would investigate another way but he wasn't going to be there with these people who thought Sam was dead.

When he got back to the motel room he found Bobby was back from the library with a stack of print outs spread over the table.

"Find anything?" Dean asked.

Bobby didn't even ask why he was back so soon, he just looked up at Dean solemnly in a way that made the younger man's stomach turn over. "What?" he asked.

"You better sit down," Bobby told him in the heavy way he had when he was about to impart something big.

Dean, his legs already shaking, sank into the other chair. "Bobby, what is it?"

"I was tracking similar demonic omens to see the last time any of this magnitude had occurred," he began, pulling out a paper and sliding it across the table to Dean. "This is what I found."

Dean took the paper and frowned, not sure what he was looking at at first. It was a map printout with Bobby's annotations of where demonic omens had occurred. It took him a moment to see the area it was detailing and when he did, his stomach flipped.

"Lawrence, Kansas?" he asked. "What does this mean, Bobby?" Though he knew. He knew well enough what it meant.

Bobby rubbed a hand over his eyes tiredly. "The last time omens like this were seen was in Lawrence in 1983. The same week that your mom died."

* * *

 _Sam worked quickly_ with his makeshift lock pick. The pen was not the best tool for the heavy manacles that bound his wrists, but it was all he had, so he was going to make the best of it. It was clumsy and hard work, but he finally got a click in his left manacle after nearly an hour of coaxing. Smiling in triumph, he instantly set back to work, though this was the tricky one, using his left hand. But now that he knew what the lock was like, he was able to do it with only a little non-dexterous fumbling. The second click nearly brought tears of relief to his eyes as he shed the heavy manacles and rubbed his raw wrists. He stood up, wondering if he should make a run for it now. He didn't know where the demons were in the house and could easily be caught before he even got out of the basement, but if he was found down here without his manacles he would probably be locked up tighter and not get another chance of escape at all. He knew he had to take the chance while he had it.

He went over to the worktable first and gabbed a heavy hammer to use as a weapon, then he crept up the stairs, putting his ear to the door and listening. He couldn't hear anything beyond it, and when he tried the door it wasn't locked and swung open with only a little creek. Sam winced even at that, but he slipped out quickly and cautiously listened as he took each step to see if he could determine where in the house his captors were.

The place was dark, but there was still enough light to see by though it only seemed to be coming from the windows. Sam wondered if he could just slip out of a window now and get away before they found out he was gone, but as he tried each one he came to, they didn't unlock, no matter how much he wanted them too. He was tempted to smash them with his hammer, but that would defeat the purpose of his covert escape.

The farther through the place he went he wasn't even sure the demons were there. It seemed deserted. But he wasn't stupid enough to believe that; they could be playing a trick for all he knew.

Finally he saw a door and he took one more glance around before he hurried over to it. It was locked, but once he flipped the deadbolt it opened easily, revealing fresh, evening air that Sam breathed in in relief. He was almost free!

"Going somewhere, Sammy?"

His heart leapt into his throat as he heard Carlton's voice a second before he was flung against the wall, the door shutting of its own accord. Sam picked himself up off the floor where he had crumpled and raised his hammer to hit Carlton with it, seeing Kara behind him now, looking interested in the proceedings. Sam yelled wordlessly and swung the hammer, smashing it into the side of Carlton's head. There was a sickening crack and the demon's head whipped around, but he turned back toward Sam, grinning even though one side of his face was strangely caved. It was a horrible sight.

"Now, now, Sam," Carlton said, reaching out and grabbing Sam's wrist, squeezing until he dropped the hammer nervelessly. "That's no way to repay our hospitality. You're gonna be sorry for that."

Sam swallowed hard as freedom began to slip away again. He had failed; he only hoped that no one else would have to pay for this.

* * *

 **Yeah, sorry for the cliffhanger…**


	6. Chapter 6

**Thought I would post early this week since I'm going to be gone most of the weekend. Thanks as always to all reviewers and favoriters! Yet more Sam whump in this chapter, I do feel bad for him, honest! Also, this is were this story kind of deviates into AU territory. Not quite to the timeline of the show, but I hope you still enjoy it anyway ;)**

 **Also I'll be posting a new story on Monday which is a Season 11 massive fix it fix that involves Gabriel showing Sam and Dean all the wrongs they've done to Cas over the years so check that out if you're interested!**

Chapter Six

Dean sat for a long moment, trying to process the news Bobby had just imparted to him. It couldn't be _the_ demon, could it? The one that had killed his mother, burned her on the ceiling, driven John nearly mad with obsession for revenge—Dean couldn't even fathom that possibility. It was too much.

And what was worse, if it _was_ the same thing that had killed their mom, then what the hell was it going to do to Sam?

Dean's confused emotions overflowed and he suddenly leapt from his seat and ran to the bathroom to vomit, his anxiety and shock making him sick to his stomach.

Bobby was at his side in a second, handing him a cup of water and a wet washcloth.

"Sit," he said as Dean shakily rose to his feet. The older hunter closed the toilet and flushed, easing Dean down onto the seat. He just sat there breathing for a moment, head in his hands. Bobby put the cool cloth over the back of his neck and rubbed his shoulder slightly, providing a small amount of comfort. Finally Dean raised his head, his face so pale his freckles stood out like black dots on his cheeks.

"It can't be the same one, though, can it, Bobby? It can't be the thing that killed mom." He swallowed hard, shaking his head.

"I don't know, Dean," Bobby said quietly. "All I know is that's it's too much of a coincidence to ignore."

"But why would it want Sam?" Dean demanded. "If it had wanted to kill him it would have easily done it when he was a baby. And why bother taking him now after all these years?"

"I don't have the answers, son," Bobby sighed. "But think about it. The bus was burned up, that seems to be this thing's MO, right? And if it had an interest in your family before, it might still. Or it might just have taken Sam to draw your father out. Maybe John got too close to the truth and the thing finally decided it was time to tie up loose ends."

Dean felt another wave of nausea wash over him at that thought, but he held himself together this time. "

* * *

Dad, I have to call Dad. He needs to know about this." He stood up and went back out to th

* * *

e table where he pulled his cellphone from his jacket pocket. He quickly dialed John's number and waited, frustration increasing as the phone rang and rang, and then finally went to voicemail. He tried again and again but it was never answered.

"Dammit!" he yelled, making to throw the phone across the room, but stopping himself at the last minute. He took a breath and called back, leaving a message. "Dad, please call me back, I think I have a lead on the thing that killed Mom, and Sammy's in danger."

Bobby watched him silently from across the room, an unreadable expression on his face. Dean sighed and tossed the phone onto the bed. "Okay, so what do we do now? Where do we look?"

"Hold on, there ya idjit," Bobby said gruffly. "We can't just run off after this thing, it's a class A demon and would probably kill us on sight if we went in there guns blazing. We need to prepare."

"No, we need to find Sam before it kills him!" Dean shouted.

"Dean Winchester!" Bobby yelled back. "You know well enough that you're not gonna do your brother any good if you end up dead. You owe it to him to prepare and make a good job of this. Besides, we need time to locate their hideout. That way we know what we're up against; how many there are, how to get into the place they're keeping him. The good news is that all the omens point to Palo Alto as the central location so he can't be far."

Dean took several more deep breaths, trying to calm himself down. "Alright, then let's get researching."

"I've got some books in the truck, I'll go get them," Bobby said with a nod as he left the room.

Dean let out a slow breath and closed his eyes. He needed Sam to be okay, because if he wasn't, if he lost another person to this demon, Dean didn't know what he was going to do.

But he did know one thing. He was going to find out how to kill the evil son of a bitch and make sure he didn't hurt anyone else, whether Dad was there or not. The demon was going to be sorry for the day it ever tangled with Dean Winchester's family.

* * *

 _Sam woke up to_ a world of pain, his head feeling like it had been split open and the stiff feeling of dried blood on his face as he tried to open his eyes told him he wasn't far off in that assumption. He tried to blink his eyes clear, but had to turn his head and rub his eye on his shoulder to dislodge enough of the dried blood to open the lid. Even the dim light of the basement stabbed into his pounding skull and he winced and tried to adjust his eyes to the light as he took stock of his body.

First of all, the obvious: he wasn't free. For a moment, he thought he might get out, but obviously the demons had planned for that, and weren't about to let their prized prisoner escape. The one thing he had to be thankful for, however, was that their retrieval had been swift. They hadn't spent time knocking him around, but simply knocked him unconscious. Of course, he knew that he would likely be punished for his escape attempt before long. He only hoped that the demons would take it out on him and him alone. A shudder went through him as he worried about Jess getting caught up in this, but he wouldn't let that happen. He couldn't.

He was also chained more firmly now. No longer did he have the reach as before, but he had been left slumped against the wall, his hands suspended about a foot above his head so that he wouldn't get any slack at all unless he stood up and he wasn't sure he could do that yet. His dizziness told him he had a concussion. This was going to make another escape harder, but was he giving up? Hell no. He wasn't going to sit around and be the demons' puppet. He would find a way out eventually. He only hoped it wouldn't be too late for everyone he cared about.

But he had no more time to think because the door at the top of the stairs opened and footsteps made their way down. He glanced over and his stomach clenched at the sight of Carlton, followed by Steven. He swallowed. His mouth was dry and he suddenly was ravenously thirsty. When was the last time he'd had anything to drink?

Carlton sneered at him as he saw he was awake. "Well, Sammy, what do you have to say for yourself? You've been a very naughty boy, trying to escape."

Sam glared at him, but didn't bother saying anything. Steven's eyes on him, made him squirm until he finally had to look up at the second demon.

"It wasn't very nice of you to throw away my hospitality like that, Sam," Steven said in the voice of a chiding parent, making Sam's skin crawl. "I'm very disappointed in you."

"So what, I get a time out?" Sam finally snarked, his voice a hoarse croak. He swallowed to clear his throat, but hardly had enough spit for that.

Steven seemed to see his struggles and smiled. "I know you haven't eaten or drunk for a couple days. If you cooperate, you can have some food and water."

Sam sighed heavily and turned away from the demon, but Steven was there in an instant, grabbing his chin and wrenching his face around to meet his eyes. "Come on, Sam. You must know by now being stubborn will get you nowhere. I just don't understand why you refuse to comply with my wishes."

"Well, for starters, you're a demon, and I don't trust demons," Sam told him firmly, a defiant snarl curling his lips. "And secondly in case you still haven't gotten it, I'm. Not. Psychic."

Steven shoved him roughly back against the wall with a deep sigh as he straightened up with a shake of the head and turned to Carlton. "Sam, Sam, Sam, will you ever learn? Carlton, give him something stronger than before and we'll see if that can coax some of his talent to the surface."

"No, please!" Sam cried as he watched Carlton prepare a syringe again and advance on him. He gripped one of his wrists, ignoring Sam's pointless and admittedly pitiful struggles and stuck the needle into his arm. The vertigo hit Sam almost instantly and his eyes rolled back into his head. But this drug, or whatever it was, was different than before. It didn't put him under, simply kept him in a sort of dazed, dreamlike state.

"Sam, can you hear me?" Steven was suddenly in front of him and Sam jerked back as close to the wall as he could. He grunted in the back of is throat, blinking his eyes as he tried to focus. He felt the urge to run, feeling trapped in his own body, but he tried to fight the panic down, concentrating on the demon in front of him; not because he wanted to, particularly, but because he was there.

"That's good, Sam," Steven's voice sounded like it was coming to him through water. "Just concentrate on the rock in my hand. Remember what I told you? You have to will it to move. Try it."

"N-No," Sam forced out, but somehow found his will slipping away. "C-can't."

"You can if you try, I promise," the demon said. Sam shook his head, closing his eyes and hoping he would pass out, but Steven reached forward impossibly quickly and grabbed his hair, slamming his head back against the wall with a dull thump. "Dig deep inside yourself, Sam! Feel the power pumping in your veins. Embrace it!"

Sam ground his teeth and focused on the rock almost against his will. He blinked several times and his eyes were suddenly clear, or rather, the stone looked clear while everything else was still out of focus and blurry. A dull ache started behind his eyes and he could hear his blood pumping in his ears, growing almost deafening, as his pulse seemed to speed up by the second. He was suddenly aware of the rock in a way he hadn't been before, and he knew, just _knew_ that if he pushed, he could almost…

He gasped, pulling himself away from whatever the hell _that_ had been. A spike of pain stabbed through his head and he panted as if he had just run a marathon. A hand was on his chin again, shaking his head back and forth until he opened his eyes and stared at Steven, everything blurry once more.

"You felt it, didn't you? Come on, Sam, don't stop now!" the demon urged, a growl in his voice.

"Wh-what are y-you talkin' 'bout?" Sam slurred. "N-nothing happn'd." He yelped as a hand connected with his face, the pain feeling twice as bad in his drugged state.

"Don't lie to me, boy! Try again!"

"No!" Sam said firmly, and was ashamed when tears started leaking from his eyes. He was exhausted and confused and just wanted them to leave him alone. "Jus leavme 'lone."

Steven made an exasperated sound and snapped his fingers at Carlton. "Another dose!"

"No, please no!" Sam screamed, trying to pull away from the wall, but Carlton shoved him back and administered another dose of the drug. Sam sobbed breathlessly as he felt it taking over his body, causing his heart to beat so hard his chest ached. Steven had both hands on his shoulders, pressing in close as he tried to get Sam to focus on him.

"Cooperate, Sam, and this can end. Just show me what you can do!"

Sam took a deep breath and tried to focus on his eyes with little success, and forced his tear-stained face into a contemptuous sneer as he channeled his brother. "I c-can kick y-your ass!" he gritted out.

"You little bastard!" Steven suddenly went homicidal, slamming Sam back against the wall so hard it felt like his body was going to break into a thousand pieces. "You will be grateful for the gift I gave you and you will use it, or I swear I will rip everything you love away from you. I will make you watch the people you care about scream for mercy before I kill them. How would you like that? Would that give you enough motivation?"

Sam couldn't concentrate on him anymore, he felt his body shutting down, as if it were either overwhelmed by the drug and trying to protect itself, or just couldn't stand reality anymore. His eyes glazed over and he went limp, hearing Steven still yelling at him but it was so far away. As his eyes rolled back in his head and he was swallowed by the darkness, though, he could almost have sworn he saw the demon's eyes turn yellow.

* * *

 _When Sam woke next_ , he felt even worse than he had before. He definitely didn't feel right. The aftereffects of this drug made everything still seem a little blurry around the edges and he was jittery and shaky as if he had just drunk ten cups of espresso without having slept for days. His head pounded too, and the first move he made, sent his empty stomach into rebellion. He retched and only brought up thin bile since he hadn't eaten in who knew how many days. He wanted to lay down to see if the world would stop spinning but his new position wouldn't allow for that.

He sort of drifted after that, replaying what he could remember from his last round with Steven. What he had experienced that first time with the stone when it seemed like he could move it—that had been weird. But thinking back, it was probably just the drugs talking. He couldn't actually be psychic. No way. He had just been hallucinating.

He didn't know how long it was before Carlton and Steven came back down into the basement, this time with Kara in tow, looking pleased with herself for some reason.

"Heya, Sammy," Carlton greeted him with a mock smile before he proceeded to kick him in the ribs. "Good to see you up. We were hoping you would recover; seems we gave you a little too much of the good stuff. Thought you might want something to eat."

Sam looked up, hating himself for how eager he was, as Kara came over to him and crouched down with a glass of water and a bowl of the soupy oatmeal. "Open up, sweetheart," she told him and pressed the glass to his lips. Sam eagerly gulped the water, and nearly choked, most of it going onto his lap. But even though it was obviously bad tap water, it tasted like heaven and helped his parched throat a bit. Kara then gave him a spoonful of the oatmeal and he didn't even care about the indignity of having the demon spoon-feed him, he was so hungry. Just a few spoonfuls of the thin, pasty stuff tasted like the best food he had ever eaten. It wasn't nearly enough, but it was better than nothing. Once she was done feeding him, she stood back up and went to stand bedside Carlton as Steven came over to talk to Sam, sitting in the chair he usually occupied, leaning forward slightly with his elbows on his knees.

"Well, Sam, I see that our tactics aren't working well on you, so I think it's time we try something different. Do you agree?"

Sam's stomach twisted sickly with the demon's words and he hoped he wouldn't lose the food he had just eaten. He swallowed hard and Steven seemed pleased to see his discomfort.

"I thought that since you don't seem to have any care for your personal wellbeing, that you might have more of a care for that of someone you care about."

Sam glared at him, trying to keep his rising horror at bay.

"So," Steven added, looking nonchalantly at his nails before he turned to Sam with a wicked smile. "I thought it was time we had a visit from sweet little Jessica."

"No!" Sam yelled, yanking at his chains, light-headedness nearly making him black out, but he didn't stop. "Don't you dare touch her! I swear I will kill you!"

Steven sighed as he stood up. "Yes, yes, I know. You Winchesters. I promise you, Sam, I won't touch her if you cooperate. So, if you don't who will it really be hurting her?" He smiled as he watched the young man snarl and yank on his chains. "I'll leave you to think over your decision while I send Kara to go fetch your pretty girlfriend. Meanwhile, I'll enjoy coming up with my plans for her if you don't cooperate. The possibilities are deliciously endless."

"You son of a bitch!" Sam ground out, his voice trembling in anger and fear as he watched the three demons leave, Kara's smirk almost worse than Steven's threats. Once they left, he spent several more minutes, angrily yanking on the cuffs and chains but only resulted in tearing his wrists to bleeding before he collapsed, trembling, back against the wall and buried his face in his knees. Not Jess, anyone but Jess. What was he going to do now?

* * *

 _Dean and Bobby_ researched all night and finally, Dean closed the book he had been scanning through with a groan, leaning back on the bed and rubbing a hand over his eyes. "This is pointless. We're not gonna find anything."

Bobby gave him a sideways glance. "We won't know until we've looked through everything we can. You should try to get some shuteye though."

Dean sat up and glared at the older hunter. "You know I can't, not after what you told me. But I can't do this anymore right now either. I'm going to go scout around again. See if I can find anything I missed."

"Dean, that's a stupid plan," Bobby told him firmly as the younger man grabbed his jacket and keys.

"Well, I need to do something besides sit here, I'm going crazy," Dean snapped. "I'll drive over to the collage, look through the library there, see if I can find any news reports from the past week that will lead us to the demons."

Bobby sighed, but conceded. "All right, but call me if you find anything. I don't want you going off half-cocked and getting yourself captured too."

"I will," Dean said, and left, driving over to the campus. The library was quiet that early in the morning, though there were already several students there researching and working on the computers. He sat at one of the computers and started looking online for recent news stories, doing searches for anything weird locally and in nearby areas.

He realized before long that he had been there for several hours and decided to go and find some coffee before he did any more research. He got up to leave the library and was just walking down the front steps when he spotted a blond figure out of the corner of his eyes, walking across campus. Further inspection confirmed his suspicions that it was Jessica Moore. He felt torn again, like he always did when he thought of her. Maybe he should talk to her. She may know something that could help him find Sam; maybe she had seen something off, even if she didn't know exactly what she had seen. At this point he was willing to take anything he could get.

Before he could make a decision either way, another young woman came into view, walking swiftly in the same path that Jessica had gone. Dean frowned but figured she must be one of the girl's friends and decided with a sigh that he had blown his chances and it was probably best to stick to his previous policy and not involve Jessica in this. Besides, if she knew anything that could help, she probably would have told the police. Of course, on the other hand, she didn't know it _wasn't_ an accident, and again, she may have seen something she didn't even know was relevant…

Dean groaned and shook his head, forcing himself to walk back towards the car. If he was desperate later, he would find Jessica and talk to her, policy or not. However, he didn't get more that a few feet before he heard a scream.


	7. Chapter 7

**I'm back! It seems like forever since I updated this story, been a long week lol. Glad you guys are all still enjoying it! This is the chapter where it all starts to pick up. Thanks as always to the reviewers :)**

Chapter Seven

Dean took off running across the deserted campus, barreling around the corner Jessica had disappeared, pulling the gun from the back of his jeans. He got around the corner just in time to see the second woman trying to restrain the blond girl, who was putting up a pretty good fight, and probably would have won it too, if her assailant hadn't been a demon. And she was a demon, sure enough. She flashed her black eyes at Dean as soon as he came around the corner, pointing the gun at her, even though he knew it was a useless weapon.

"Hey, you let her go, bitch," he snarled.

"Winchester," the demon sneered and threw Jessica into the wall of the building. She gave a shriek that was cut off abruptly as she smashed into the wall and fell limply to the ground. The demon turned on Dean, obvious pleasure in her expression.

"Well, it looks like I got two for the price of one, the girlfriend and the brother."

Dean fought to keep his eagerness at bay, trying to play it cool as he kept the gun leveled at her, his other hand reaching for the flask of holy water in his pocket. "You know where Sam is, don't you?"

"Maybe," she said coyly, cocking her head to one side. "I bet you want to see him, don't you? I can take you there if you want."

"Yeah, you'll take me there, all right," Dean told her firmly. "But not like this. Not as leverage. You're going to come with me first and I'm going to have a nice long talk with you. And then some words in Latin."

The demon laughed. "Oh yeah? And what do you think you're going to bind me with?"

"I had some ideas," Dean said then threw his flask of holy water at her face. She fell back to the ground, screaming. Dean ran forward and shoved her onto her face, reaching for some rope and proceeded to pour holy water over it before attempting to bind her. She hissed at the obvious pain, but quickly spun onto her back, kicking Dean off of her and slamming him with demonic force against the wall of the building. He lost his gun in the struggle and grunted as he tried to peel himself from the wall but to no avail.

"Really, that was your master plan?" the demon laughed. "Please. You're going to have to try a lot harder than that."

With a reluctant curse, Dean began an exorcism. " _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus_ …"

The demon snarled but stood still, wreathing in obvious pain, looking as if she were trying to resist, but then she collapsed to her knees and smoked out of her own accord as if giving up. The body of the woman she had been possessing collapsed to the ground and Dean was released from the demon's power. He picked up his gun waiting for an attack but it never came. He put it back into his belt and cursed. There was his one lead to Sammy gone.

A groan sounded and he turned to Jessica, pushing back his anger for a moment as he hurried over to her, kneeling down and helping her sit up. "Hey, you all right?"

She gasped and scrambled away from him several feet until she hit the wall, then looked between him and the unconscious girl on the grass. "W-what happened?"

Dean hesitated, wondering how much he should tell her, then just decided to simplify things. She didn't look ready to hear the truth quite yet. "Well, as far as I can tell, that woman tried to kidnap you. Good thing I was around."

"But why?" Jessica asked, looking confused.

Dean sighed. He would have to tell her a little of the truth. "Look, this might seem like a lot to handle, especially right now, but your boyfriend, Sam, I think he's been kidnapped and the same people might be out for you."

"What?!" Jessica demanded, her voice raising several octaves as she pulled herself to her feet and eyed Dean suspiciously. "You're crazy! Sam's…Sam's d-dead, and it's horrible of you to even think of—"

"I know," Dean assured her as calmly as possible. "And trust me, I wouldn't bring you into this if I didn't have to, but you are obviously in danger now, and I can't let you get hurt."

"Who are you?" she demanded.

Dean sighed. "I'm Dean Winchester. I'm Sammy's big brother."

Her eyes widened. " _You're_ Dean?"

Dean gave her a small smile. "In the flesh. Now if you don't mind, I'm going to take you somewhere safe where we can talk, okay?"

She hesitated and then finally nodded, following Dean as he looked around the campus to make sure there weren't any other demons lurking in the shadows.

"Y-you said Sam's not dead?" she asked quietly as he headed toward the parking lot.

"Yeah," Dean replied. "They don't have any physical evidence of his body being on the bus, and besides, I…I would know. And now that attempt to kidnap you proves it."

"But why would they want me? Why would they want Sam in the first place?" she cried. "What is going on?"

Dean closed his eyes for a second, fishing his keys from his pocket. "Sam, I don't know, but you, they likely want for leverage to get him to cooperate."

"Oh God, do you think they've hurt him?" she gasped, tears flooding her eyes.

Dean swallowed hard. "I don't know. But I'm doing my best to find him, okay?" he opened the passenger door of the Impala for her and she slid in, wringing her hands.

"Where are we going?" she sniffed.

"To get you someplace safe," Dean informed her. "Then we can see if you can help me figure out where Sam is."

* * *

 _Sam was in agony_ the whole time he waited alone in the cellar for the demons to come back with Jessica. He didn't know what he was going to do. He couldn't physically do what Steven wanted him to, so how was he going to convince him of that so he wouldn't hurt Jess? And even if he did convince him he was telling the truth, then it was likely they would just kill both of them and be done with the whole thing. There was really no point in keeping them alive, especially since they knew Sam was a hunter. The only consolation he had was that if Steven killed him, Dean and his dad would make sure the demon paid with his life. But that wouldn't make Sam feel any better about Jessica. He was so stupid to think that he could live a normal life and now he had brought the crazy with him when he left. He had brought his family's misfortune to the woman he loved and he couldn't stand that. He had to do everything he could to protect Jess. Maybe if he could fake it at least for long enough to plan another escape—or long enough for Dean to find him if he really were there—then maybe he could get them both out before the demons killed them. But how could you really go about faking psychic powers? It wasn't like he could just go 'use the force, Luke' and pretend to move stuff with his mind.

He was brought back to reality with the sounds of a commotion up above him, shouting and slamming doors. He felt bile rise in his throat, figuring it was Kara bringing Jessica back. Part of him enjoyed the thought of her putting up a fight to annoy the demon, but the other part hoped she had gone quietly so Kara wouldn't have had reason to hurt her. But as the noises went on, Sam heard Steven yelling too, and a female voice he didn't recognize protesting before a whimper was heard along with the sound of flesh colliding sharply. Sam frowned, hope growing before he could tell it not to. Had Jess actually managed to give Kara the slip?

He was about to find out, because he heard the demons approach the stairs and pounding footsteps heading down them a few seconds later. There was a woman first, a blond ponytail swinging behind her and some blood on her lip as if from a slap. She snarled and went straight over to Sam, kicking him instantly.

"Kara!" Steven was next, calling to the woman. "You can take your frustrations out on him later. You have disappointed me."

She gave Sam a glare that promised a lot of pain, then went to stand in the corner.

Steven sighed and came over to Sam. He nodded to Carlton and the other demon went over to Sam and pulled a crank on the wall. Sam felt the chains attached to him tighten and he realized he was being pulled upright. He struggled to get to his feet himself, even though his legs were unsteady, and eventually, he was tottering on his toes, his hands pulled tautly up above his head. Steven stood before him, a knife in his hand, tapping his chin with the blade thoughtfully. Sam couldn't help but smirk slightly.

"I see you didn't get Jess after all," he said.

Steven's eyes hardened for a second then held up his hand as Kara started forward with a curse. "Yes, that was rather unfortunate. Kara was unable to fetch her as I asked. Instead she was met with an unexpected party and had to abandon her body and the object of her mission. And then she proceeded to make sure that another asset got away as well." He growled at his subordinate and Kara looked at her feet, anger still clear in her features but submissive to the other demon. Steven turned back to Sam. "You have your brother to thank for your girlfriend's rescue. But I assure you it is only temporary. I will have both of them before this is over, helping me get what I want out of you."

A rush of hope surged through Sam. Dean was looking for him, and he was close. Even better, that meant Sam was still in Palo Alto, the demons hadn't dragged him off to places unknown. And he felt a world better knowing that Jess was safe with his brother. A defiant smile spread over his lips before Steven backhanded him, wiping it from his face, but he still felt a new strength inside.

"So, now I'm left with just you again, Sammy," Steven said. "And a punishment to dole out. Not what I wanted, I assure you. I can't kill you yet, obviously, that would defeat my purpose, but I can make you hurt. A lot. And maybe it will at least give you a taste of what I will do to your big bro and poor innocent Jess when I do get my hands on them. A little teaser so you might cooperate better."

Sam glared at him. "Bite me," he snarled.

Steven smiled without humor. "I was hoping you would say that." His knife sliced across Sam's ribs and the young man could barely cry out before another cut appeared on his arm, and then the knife point came to rest right under his collarbone, Steven's grinning face in his.

"Oh, Sam, we're going to have so much fun." And then he continued to slice to Sam's screams.

* * *

" _This is safe?" was_ the first thing Jessica asked as Dean pulled up in front of the motel.

"Well, they haven't found us here yet," he replied somewhat defensively as he got out of the car and Jessica followed him reluctantly. Dean unlocked the room and ushered her inside. Bobby was still sitting at the table among his research and looked up, eyes widening as he saw Dean's companion.

"Dean, what—?"

"Bobby, this is Jessica Moore, Sam's girlfriend. Jessica, this is Bobby Singer, he's kind of our uncle."

Jessica gave the older man a small wave, before confusion came over her face, as she looked around the room while Bobby nonchalantly closed several lore books and covered up some of the more dubious research. "I'm sorry, but I don't understand. Why are you here? I mean, if you know Sam was kidnapped, shouldn't you be calling the police?"

"It would be too risky," Dean said quickly. "Sam is nearby, but if we alert the authorities, there's a good chance they could take him somewhere else or just end up killing him."

"But what are you?" Jessica demanded, looking between Dean and Bobby. "I thought Sam said you were a mechanic or something."

Dean gave a small smile. "On Tuesdays. But I do a lot of odd jobs."

Jessica didn't look convinced at all, in fact she looked downright suspicious and she had every right to be, but Dean was hoping she would forget that in her worry for Sam and help him out instead of calling the police on _them_. "Look, I'm sure this is a lot to process right now, and I'm sorry, but Sam's in trouble, and I need to know everything that happened prior to him disappearing so that we can maybe find where he is and who took him. You may have seen the person responsible and not even known it since you didn't know he was kidnapped until now."

"I-I don't know," Jessica said, sounding overwhelmed as she took a seat on the end of one of the beds. "It was—the holiday weekend. He was just going to go up to San Francisco for the day to do some shopping or whatever. I stayed back here because I had some papers to finish, and then when he…when he didn't come home that night, I tried to call him but I couldn't get a hold of him and then the next day a police officer came to the door and told me that he was—that he was dead."

"Hey, it's all right," Dean told her, awkwardly touching her shoulder as she buried her face in her hands. "I promise he's not dead. Now can you remember anything before that? Anything strange that happened, or anyone new who might have crossed paths with Sam in the days before he disappeared?"

She sniffed slightly, wiping her eyes. "Um…there was one thing, I guess. A couple days before there was like a gas leak or something in the apartment complex. It wasn't serious, and they cleaned it up really quick, but the man from the company came to our door and told us we'd probably want to go out for a couple hours just in case, so we went out for dinner and then hung out with our friends. I didn't really think much of it, after, because he wasn't there when we got back, but it kind of smelled in the apartment that night I guess."

Dean frowned. "What exactly did it smell like?"

"I don't know, it was pretty faint," Jessica shrugged.

"Did it smell like gas or like sulfur?"

Jessica frowned up at him in confusion, then cocked her head to one side. "Actually, it did kind of smell like rotten eggs. But why would it smell like sulfur?"

Dean ignored her question and cast a look at Bobby, raising his eyebrows. "Really? They're actually doing the whole gas leak routine?"

The older hunter shrugged. "I guess whatever works."

"I'm sorry, I don't understand what that has to do with Sam's disappearance," Jessica said. "You think that guy was the one who took him?"

"Maybe," Dean said. "In any case it's the only thing we have to go on."

"But how?"

"Maybe he put a tracker on Sam's phone or bugged your apartment to find out where he was going," Dean suggested.

"But why Sam? Who could possibly want to kidnap him?" Jessica cried.

"I don't know," Dean lied.

"I do know one thing," Bobby said to Jessica, "and that's that we need to get you out of town."

"What? No way!" she protested. "I am not leaving town when Sam could be out there being tortured by a psychopathic serial killer!"

"Jessica, he's right," Dean told her. "They already tried to grab you too, if they manage to do that, then you'll just be a tool for them to get Sam to do what they want. And he won't want to see you hurt, trust me, it will destroy him. The best thing you can do is get out of town and let Bobby and I handle this."

She looked like she was going to protest again, but finally she sighed. "All right, but I want to know the instant you know anything."

Dean felt a bit of relief wash over him. If he could at least get Sam's girlfriend out of harm's way, that was something. "I will. Now do you have somewhere you can go?"

"My parents live a couple hours away," she said. "I could go there. Say I need some time off from school. They already thought it might be a good idea for me to come stay with them for a while."

Dean nodded. "Good. Hopefully it won't take us that long to find Sam, but I know he would want you to be safe."

"I'll drive you there myself," Bobby said, standing up and reaching for his jacket. "That way we make sure you don't get waylaid on the way."

Dean sighed and smiled slightly at Jessica. "I promise we'll get Sam back. And for the record, it was nice to meet you. I just wish it could have been under better circumstances."

She gave a small smile back. "You too, Dean."

"Let me know if you remember anything else," Dean told her. "And don't let anyone know that Sam might be alive, okay? Not until we find him."

She took a deep sigh, but nodded finally.

Bobby turned to Dean and gave him a look. "I should be back by tonight. Don't try anything stupid before I get here."

Dean rolled his eyes, but nodded. "Yes, Bobby, I won't do anything stupid."

The older hunter gave him a look then shook his head and turned back to Jessica. "Come on, we can stop by your place on the way out so you can grab your stuff."

Dean watched them go and finally sat down to the research again with a sigh. It was almost worst knowing that Sam was so close and yet not knowing where. But he would find him like he said. If it was the last thing he did, he would rescue his little brother from those demons. He just needed to know how.

It was a while and several thick books later when his phone rang. He answered it instantly, and was surprised to hear Jessica's voice on the other end.

"Dean, I just thought of something that might help," he told him.

"What is it?" he asked eagerly.

"Well, a few months back, Sam and I both got new phones and he was kind of insistent about getting those GPS things for them, like to track them. I thought it was unnecessary, but he did it anyway, and you can go online and look up the phone's location. If he had it on him, then maybe it's where he is now."

"Jess, that's great," Dean said, already grabbing his jacket and keys. "Can you give me your account?"

With the note written down, he was out the door and heading toward his car.

"Dean," Bobby's voice was on the phone now. "Don't you do anything stupid, son."

"Don't worry, Bobby," Dean said before he ended the call, probably leaving the old man cussing up a storm.

He hurriedly drove to the library, quickly snagging a computer and going to the proper website. When he opened up the account Jessica had given him and put Sam's number in it took ages for the results to load, until he was sure they weren't going to. That Sam's phone had been ditched or destroyed and it couldn't track anymore. But finally the result came up and he sucked in a breath as he checked the map and realized that the position was only about five miles from the motel he and Bobby had been staying at.

"Sammy," he whispered, hurriedly writing down the address. "I'm coming for you."

* * *

 **Dean is on the scent! Of course, he didn't listen to Bobby and wait for backup…. Sorry for the cliffy, but in the meantime you can check out my new S11 AU story "When All is Said and Done" especially if you are suffering from the feels this season and think Cas needs a break. Until next time!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Okay everyone, I think you've all been waiting for this chapter ;) Enjoy!**

Chapter Eight

Sam was sitting slumped against the wall again. Thankfully Carlton had lowered his chains to give him some tiny relief when Steven was done with him—of course that was mostly just so he could kick him in the ribs. It didn't really help the pain, and the strain on his arms was still bad, but it was better than standing on the balls of his feet with his whole weight being supported by his aching wrists, especially since his legs didn't seem to want to support him anymore.

He was pretty messed up after Steven's 'lesson'. Sure, it could have been worse, he kept telling himself that, but it had been bad enough. The demon had carved into him with his knife for the better part of half an hour, not doing any major damage but causing maximum pain. He obviously knew what he was doing, Sam decided with a shiver. He was covered in cuts and slices, his clothes tattered and soaked in blood and he felt light-headed from the blood loss and his hunger-weakened state. The swallow of water and the meager oatmeal earlier hadn't been nearly enough to make up for several days of nothing. He was getting tired, the fight slowly eking from him even though he was not about to give up yet. He couldn't. If Dean was looking for him, then he knew he had to hold on at least long enough for him to get there. But if Steven had too many more sessions with him followed by punishments when he wasn't able to perform the magic tricks the demon wanted, Sam wasn't sure how much more he was going to be able to physically stand. He had been raised tough, but he wasn't invincible.

He shivered in the cold basement and brought his knees up to his chest, trying to keep what little body heat he had close. One side of his face was caked in blood from a long cut that went down his cheek, his torn jeans dug into several more wounds on his thighs but he didn't really care. He just tried to close his eyes and get a bit of rest while he could, knowing that before long Steven would be back, asking him to do impossible things and he would refuse because what else could he do? And then the pain would start all over again. Sam's eyes smarted against his will and he roughly scrubbed them against his knees. He knew they were tears of frustration, but still, he was _not_ going to cry and turn this into some kind of self-pity fest. He was stronger than that. At least he had always thought he was. Maybe he had been wrong after all.

He did sleep for a bit, his body too exhausted not to, but he was startled awake by the door opening to the basement, and his heart instantly thudded in his chest. _Please not again, not now!_

Steven and Carlton appeared and Sam fought the urge to whimper. It was just the pain talking, he told himself. Steven smiled at him like an indulging parent.

"Now, Sam, I do hope you learned your lesson from earlier. I really was sorry to have to do that you know, but you refused to cooperate."

Sam swallowed hard, urging some defiance back into his eyes. "Yeah, you looked real sorry when you were cutting me apart."

Steven chose to ignore him and nodded to Carlton who went over to the table and opened the box Sam knew contained the syringes. A moan escaped his throat unbidden and he yanked at the chains instinctively. Steven smiled at his distress reaching down to stroke a hand through his blood matted hair, sending shivers that had nothing to do with the cold up Sam's spine.

"It's okay, Sammy, it will be easier this time, I promise. I realize now that you must be telling the truth, that you genuinely haven't found your abilities yet. That's all right, Sam, there's no shame in it. I can help you find them, it will only take a little extra preparation and some training on your part."

"Why can't you just believe me?" Sam demanded wearily, hardly bothering to protest when Carlton grabbed his arm to shove the needle into it. The wooziness started to take over again, but it wasn't quite as bad as before. They must have decided not to give him too much again.

Steven shook his head sadly. "Oh, Sam, you'll see your true talents soon enough, I promise. You just need a little special ingredient."

"No more drugs," he slurred. "Please."

"Oh, this isn't a drug, this is like your vitamins. It's good for you, Sammy, it will make you feel better, stronger. You'll be able to do things you've never dreamed."

"Sorry, but I always 'just say no'." Sam quipped trying to focus on the demon.

"You may not want it now, Sam, but you will; after you get your first taste you won't want to stop." He nodded to Carlton who crouched next to Sam and gripped his chin and a fistful of his hair, pulling his head back and forcing his mouth open. Sam struggled, trying to get free, to bite the demon, anything, but Carlton's grip was too strong and the drug already in his veins was making him too weak; he could only wiggle pitifully while he watched with horror as Steven pulled out his knife again.

"Don't look like that, I'm not going to hurt you Sam," Steven told him, holding out his arm and pressing the tip of the blade into his own wrist. "I'm only trying to help you."

Sam watched in horrified fascination as the demon's blood beaded around the knife and started to dribble down his arm. Steven smiled and began to position his arm above Sam. "Open up, Sam."

Sam cried out, renewing his struggles, but before the blood could fall into his mouth, the door to the basement was slammed open and Kara came pounding down the stairs, causing Steven to whip around.

"Kara, I'm a little busy," he snarled. "You are beginning to annoy me."

"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "But I thought you would want to know. The other one is here!"

"What other one?" Steven demanded.

"His brother!" Kara snarled, jabbing a finger at Sam. "He's right outside, I don't know how he found us!"

A surge of hope pooled inside Sam at the same time as horror did. There was no way Dean was going to be able to fight off three demons alone. He was walking right into a trap.

"How did he find us?" Steven shouted.

Carlton cursed. "Maybe it was his phone, I kept it in case you wanted to call John Winchester."

"I thought I told you to get rid of it!" Steven cursed and rolled his sleeve down, sheathing his knife. "It doesn't matter now. We'll just have to have a change of plans then. Gag him," he said, pointing at Sam, "and then pretend you're not here. I want to make sure Dean can't get away when we catch him. We're not going to risk him getting away again, right Kara?"

The female demon's jaw hardened but she nodded. "Right."

"No!" Sam yelled, as Carlton forced a strip of dirty cloth into his mouth and tied it so tight it brought tears to his eyes.

"Shut up if you know what's good for you," the demon sneered, shoving Sam roughly against the wall. "We're going to make your big brother scream."

Sam glared daggers at him but Carlton just laughed as he followed the others back up the stairs. "Sit tight, Sammy. Soon it will be a Winchester family reunion."

Sam struggled once but gave up and slumped back. There wasn't anything he could do in his weakened state. Dean was already there, and he only hoped he had some kind of plan, because otherwise they were both screwed.

* * *

 _Dean was halfway_ to the Impala on his way to rescue Sam when he hesitated. He knew perfectly well what a stupid plan this was to go in there alone, facing off against he didn't know how many demons, in a place he had never been in before. But what was he going to do? Bobby would be gone for at least another two hours and two hours could be all the difference to Sam right now. Dean just couldn't stand the thought of knowing where Sam was and letting him wait there alone and probably in pain for any longer than he had to. And yeah, he knew getting himself captured or killed wasn't going to help his brother either, but he just couldn't sit around waiting. He would go mad. Besides, he had a plan, and plenty of holy water and salt and spray paint to at least stop some demons temporarily. At least long enough to hopefully get Sam out of there.

Biting his lip, he eventually pulled his phone out and dialed Bobby. It went to voicemail, for which he was glad, and he left a quick message. "Hey Bobby, I found where they're keeping Sam. I'm sorry, but if you know me, you know I can't wait. Just get back as quickly as you can." And then he gave the address and closed his phone, taking a deep breath and starting the car.

"I'm coming, Sammy."

It only took about fifteen minutes for him to reach the address. It brought him to some foreclosed real estate, and he parked the car down the street a bit from the location he had gotten from his phone tracking. He got out and opened the trunk, loading all the things he would need into a duffle bag and loading his shotgun with salt rounds. He knew it wouldn't stop a demon, but it would at least slow them down.

"Well, here goes nothing," Dean said and headed toward the house.

He picked the lock on a side window instead of the door, hoping this might be less detectable. He looked around cautiously, not sensing anyone instantly. He crept as quietly as possible through the darkened building, taking several opportunities to draw devil's traps on the floor where he could, covering them up with the hopes he could trap a few demons.

It was quiet in the house, and he began to wonder if the demons were even home, but he wasn't about to bet any money on that, in fact, he would rather bet on the fact that they knew he was there. But there wasn't really anything he could do about that now, he would just have to do his best to fight his way out with Sam in tow.

And that led to the question of where they would keep Sam? He hadn't seen him or any sign of him yet, but he thought that this house had a basement, and that would be the best place to keep a prisoner.

It didn't take him long to find the door to the basement and when he did he listened to see if he could hear anyone on the other side. He didn't but that didn't mean no one was there either. He quickly slipped through the door, closing it behind him and found some wooden stairs leading down into the dark room. He took the opportunity to paint a demon trap on the underside of the stairs before he found a light switch and flipped it on.

There was a muffled groan and Dean spun around.

"Sam?" he whispered.

Another grunt and the sound of rattling chains and finally, Dean spotted a ragged lump over on one side of the room. His breath caught in his throat as Sam raised his head and stared at him with wide eyes.

"Sammy!" Dean choked out and was across the room instantly, on his knees in front of Sam, taking his face between his hands gently and trying to undo the gag with his trembling fingers. "Thank God, Sam, are you all right?"

"D'n," Sam managed after Dean had pulled the gag from his mouth, and tears began to stream down his cheeks in relief. "Dean."

"Hey, hey, it's all right, little brother, I've got you now," Dean told him, forcing a smile as he pushed some of Sam's blood crusted hair off of his forehead, trying to keep the anger at bay as he saw the mess his brother was in. Those demons were going to pay. He grabbed his lock picks and started to undo the cuffs, grinding his teeth as he saw the bleeding mess that were Sam's wrists underneath, where the manacles had dug into his skin.

"Aw, Sammy," Dean said, tears clouding his own eyes as he gently lowered Sam's hands to his lap as his brother cried out from the pain. His forearms were littered with needle marks, some fresher than others and that coupled with Sam's spaced out look told Dean all he needed to know and made him vow another round of vengeance on the demons. But right now, he was only interested in getting his brother out of there.

"Come here," he said, pulling Sam into his arms and closing his eyes, feeling his brother's too-skinny, trembling frame and the tears that were wetting his shirt as Sam choked on sobs and reached up to grab Dean's jacket.

"Dean," he said, pushing back suddenly and trying to focus on his brother. "They—they know y-you're here. It's a trap."

"I'm sure, Sammy, but we're still getting out of here, come on." Dean stood and pulled Sam to his feet, trying to ignore the yelp of pain that escaped his brother as he supported him as best he could and pulled him toward the steps. He didn't have time to check all his injuries right now; he only hoped he wasn't doing worse to him.

But before they could climb up even one step, the door opened and three demons stood there, grinning down at the two brothers like cats looking at a pair of mice.

"Dean," said one who Dean instantly figured was the leader. "Thinking of leaving us so soon? I've been dying to meet you. How about we sit and have a chat, you and I? I think we have a lot to talk about."

* * *

 **Well, Dean found Sam, but as usual, things didn't turn out for the best...**

 **So, after this week's episode (11x17) I needed more fluff, so I'm working on a one-shot tag to it, so if you're interested, keep an eye out! I'll be posting it sometime early this week.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Okay guys, here's the exciting part! Will Dean and Sam get out?**

Chapter Nine

Dean instantly shoved Sam behind him, feeling his brother's hand on his shoulder to keep himself upright, as he leveled his shotgun at the demons standing above them.

"As much as I would love to talk, I'm getting my little brother out of here before you do anything else to him," Dean told them firmly. "Oh yeah, and about that, I'm gonna kill you for everything you already did."

The lead demon shook his head. "Trust me, Dean, I didn't want to hurt Sam, but he refused to cooperate with me, and unfortunately, that meant he had to be…persuaded."

"And the drugs too?" Dean gritted out.

"Those were to heighten his senses," the demon said. "Now, put the gun down, Dean, it's not going to do you any good against me."

"Why don't you come get it yourself," Dean said, hoping they would walk into the reverse demon trap he had painted under the landing.

"We can make this easy, you know, Dean," the demon told him with a smile. "No need to be nasty. In case you haven't realized it, you're cornered."

"Yeah, well, what else is new?" Dean watched as the demon started down the stairs, the others following with excited smiles. Dean pressed Sam backward, still leveling the shotgun at the lead demon, when they stopped, frowns forming on their faces before they seemed to realize what happened. Dean allowed himself a smug smile.

"Demon trap, you black-eyes bastards. Now why don't you try to come get us?"

The demon lackeys snarled curses at Dean but the head demon just smiled slowly and gave a small chuckle. "Oh Dean, this little thing isn't strong enough to keep me in." He waved his hand and a crack sounded out as the wood split, thus breaking the trap.

"Crap," Dean said, his eyes widening as he grabbed Sam and started to retreat backwards, anywhere really, but the direction the demons were coming at them. Though there was nowhere to run in the cramped basement.

"Okay, that's enough, this is getting pathetic," the head demon said, swiping his hand again to knock the gun from Dean's hand before flinging him into the wall.

"Dean!" Sam cried as his brother hit hard with a groan, then let out a yelp as he too was flung against the wall a few feet from Dean. The head demon came over to them clicking his tongue reprimandingly.

"Well, look at this. Both Winchester brothers at my disposal. Now all we need is daddy John to come and join the party. Do you think we should give him a little invite?" The demon reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone, likely Sam's, which he waggled back and forth suggestively.

"Good luck," Dean grunted. "I haven't been able to get a hold of him in weeks." He looked over at Sam and saw his furrowed brow as he was splitting his attention between his captor and his brother.

"Not even if his sons were in danger?" the demon said as he looked through the contacts on Sam's phone and smiled, hitting a button.

"Stop," Dean ground out.

The demon help up a finger to tell him to wait and then when he obviously heard the message tone, he started speaking. "Hi John, you don't know me, but you can call me Steven; I happen to have your boys here, and they're not exactly happy. Say hi, boys." He held up a hand and fisted it. Dean felt a sudden crushing agony in his chest and a strangled shout ripped from his throat before he could stop it and he heard a pained yelp from Sam's direction too. Steven smiled and turned back to the phone. "I want to talk, John. We're in Palo Alto, you had best get here soon." He ended the call and turned back to the brothers.

"We'll see if he gets the message. If not, well, I guess we'll just have to start the party without him. How about it, Sammy? Are you going to be more inclined to do what I asked with big brother here as leverage."

"No!" Sam cried as Dean suffered another wave of agony from Steven that felt like his innards were being squeezed and torn out of him. He couldn't help the scream, wanting to curl in on himself, but was plastered flat and spread-eagled against the wall thanks to Steven's demon mojo. The pain lasted for several long seconds before the demon released him and allowed him to crumple to the ground. Dean coughed as Steven came over to him, gripping the front of his coat and hauling him upright. Dean fixed a glare on him and spat out. "Only I get to call him Sammy."

Steven sighed longsufferingly and dropped Dean as if with disinterest. "You two never stop. But I will break you, boys, I know you may not think it's possible, but I will." He turned to Sam and stroked his matted hair back from his face, making the younger Winchester shiver in disgust. "I'll give you a little time to think about what you do next, Sam, because I like you. I'll be back in fifteen minutes. I have a call to make. Business doesn't stop just because I'm working on my hobbies."

He dropped Sam next to Dean, the younger brother falling in a heap as the demons retreated from the basement. Dean hauled himself into a sitting position with a groan, a hand clutched to his chest, and turned to Sam who was having a harder time of righting himself.

"Sammy, you okay?" Dean asked gently as he helped his brother up to sit beside him though he mostly just slumped against Dean's shoulder.

"Knew you would come," Sam mumbled quietly.

"Huh?" Dean asked, leaning closer to him.

"Knew you would come," Sam said again, opening his eyes to look up at his brother. "Only thing…kept me going…at the end."

Dean felt a lump in his throat as he watched his little brother's wet eyes. He sighed and slid an arm around Sam's too-thin shoulders, wondering how much of this was the drugs talking. "Yeah, well, I'm sorry I didn't get us out of here."

They were silent for a while before Sam said. "You think Dad will come?"

"If he even gets the call?" Dean grunted. "Last I heard he's across the country, I don't think he'd even get here in time. He didn't even call me back when I…when I thought you were dead."

Sam shivered, leaning more heavily against Dean's side. "When did you know?" he asked quietly.

Dean shifted uncomfortably. "When they didn't have any evidence to show me. But don't worry Sammy, you know I would never leave you for dead unless I watched you die myself. Even then, I wouldn't let you go easy."

Sam smiled slightly. "Yeah, I know. Glad some things never change."

"Damn right," Dean said. "But don't worry, Bobby's working this with me and he knows where we are. He'll be pissed I ran in here without him, but he'll make sure we get out alive."

"I'm glad you didn't wait," Sam said quietly. "You got here just in time." He didn't elaborate, and Dean didn't ask him to at the moment, but he recognized a strain of fear and unease in Sam's voice that he only rarely heard, and vowed again to kill that demon, Steven, who had put it there.

And speak of the devil, the door opened up and he came back with the other male demon.

"Well, had some time to think, Sam?" Steven asked.

Dean instantly put himself between the demons and Sam, glowering at them. "You think you're going to touch a hair of his head again, you're gonna have to go through me, asshat."

The other demon sneered and reached down, dragging Dean to his feet away from Sam and tossing him aside so that he rolled over the floor.

Sam looked like he was going to get on his feet, but Steven got to him first, pushing him back against the wall and quickly cuffing him again. Sam kicked out at him, but Steven wagged a finger, clicking his tongue.

"Uh-uh, Sammy, you be good, or I'll let Carlton have some fun with your brother."

"You son of a bitch," Sam growled at him. "I'm not gonna do anything for you!"

"You tell him, Sam!" Dean shouted, proud of the way his brother stood up to the demon and also terrified for both of them. Things were looking pretty bad. Carlton thudded a boot into Dean's ribs, making him grunt.

"Shut up, you little worm," he snarled and reached down to yank Dean to his feet again, throwing him on his back on the worktable on one side of the room. Dean tried to struggle upright but he was slammed back against the table with a wave of Carlton's wrist and the demon leaned over him, barring his teeth. "Stay down." He pulled a knife out and held it threateningly over the elder Winchester, as he positioned himself so he could watch his boss and Sam.

"Well, Sam?" Steven asked, leaning close to the younger Winchester. Sam closed his eyes and ducked his head away but Steven was quick to grab his jaw and yank his head back around. "You had better give me your answer unless you want to hear your brother's screams."

"Don't tell him anything, Sam!" Dean yelled and was rewarded by a swift cut to the arm.

"Make a decision, Sam," Steven said calmly, obviously enjoying the young man's struggle.

"No," Sam whispered, then stronger, "No, I won't."

"Very well, then, I guess Carlton will just have to see if he can make you change your mind."

Dean squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the pain as he felt the cold knife tip pierce the fabric of his t-shirt, but then suddenly a crash sounded from upstairs, followed by several gunshots and screaming.

Steven turned from Sam to look toward the door, then snapped at Carlton. "Go see what that is."

But before Carlton could make a move, the door to the basement crashed open and Bobby came through it, slinging what looked like water balloons at the demons. They burst open and burned like acid. Carlton screamed in agony, tearing at his skin and falling to the ground, but Steven seemed hardly phased, his skin steaming a bit, but not nearly as much as the other demon. He wiped some holy water from his sleeve and shook his head.

"Really? You think you can stop me with that?" he demanded.

"Not really," Bobby said. "I had something else up my sleeve too." And then he started an exorcism and Steven stopped in his tracks, snarling.

"You can't do that," the demon hissed though Bobby didn't stop. He just kept going, and when Steven started forward, Dean grabbed the shotgun he had dropped and unloaded several rounds into the demon. It didn't do much, but it was satisfying.

Finally, with the exorcism almost finished, the demon suddenly turned to Sam, locking eyes with him and Dean blanched as he saw they were bright yellow. Dean saw a look of horror and fear cross his brother's face as the demon spat out, "I'll be back for you Sam, you will see me again." And then the exorcism finished and he was forced from the body he had been wearing and gone. Dean watched as the obviously dead body dropped to the ground, and then he turned to see the other demon had long since smoked out. Then he turned back to Bobby.

"Thanks, Bobby," he said breathlessly.

The older hunter shouldered his gun and gave him a look. "Boy, I ought to tan your hide. What were you thinking running off into a nest of demons alone? You were lucky they didn't kill you on sight, ya idjit."

Dean swallowed hard. "I know." But he didn't apologize either, Bobby knew well enough why he had done it.

Bobby sighed and clapped a hand on his shoulder, bringing it up to his cheek before releasing him. "But at least I got here in time." He then turned to Sam and went to crouch next to him, taking his face between his hands, as Dean grabbed the keys to the manacles from the former demon's pocket.

Bobby spoke gently to the younger brother, a softness entering his face. "Sam, it's good to see you alive, son."

"It's good to see you too, Uncle Bobby," Sam said, looking like he was trying to hold back tears as Dean gently undid the manacles again and both he and Bobby helped the young man to his feet. Sam bit back a groan and leaned heavily on both of them as they practically carried him up the stairs.

They didn't talk until they got out on the street and Sam nearly sobbed as he saw the Impala waiting for them on the side of the road. Dean handed his keys to Bobby as he opened the back door and helped Sam inside.

"We need to get him to the hospital, Bobby," he said. "I don't know what they did to him, and he looks half starved."

The older hunter nodded and slid behind the wheel of the Impala. Dean grabbed some stuff from the trunk before he got in beside Sam and Bobby started off.

"Dean…" Sam tried.

"No protests," Dean told him, rummaging in a bag. He pulled out a blanket and wrapped it around Sam's shivering form. "I wanna make sure you're alright."

"But what will we tell them?" Sam asked.

"I'll think of something, don't worry," Dean told him and grabbed a bottle of water, opening it. "How long has it been since you drank?"

"A day maybe? Hard to remember. Didn't have much when I did though," Sam said, his eyes already drooping as Dean gently cupped the back of his neck and put the bottle to his lips.

"Well, try to drink a little at least," he said.

Sam obeyed and managed a few sips of the water before he was too tired to swallow. Dean wasn't pleased when he pushed it away but he didn't press him. He figured they'd get him on an IV at the hospital anyway.

Suddenly Sam opened his eyes. "Is—is Jess alright? They didn't hurt her did they?"

Dean's heart clenched at the fear in Sam's eyes and was glad he could reassure him. He smiled and stroked some hair from Sam's forehead, beginning to take stock of his wounds. "She's fine, Sam, Bobby took her to her parents' house."

Sam relaxed visibly. "Thank you."

"Hey, you should rest," Dean said and pulled him down so his head was resting on his thigh. Sam didn't protest and only curled up on the bench seat of the Impala and closed his eyes. Dean stroked his hair absently as he watched his brother fall asleep. It felt so good to have him there with him again. Especially since he had thought that he might never seen him again.

But when Sam was feeling better they were going to have a long talk about the demons and why they had wanted him. Because there was something about the whole situation that set really badly in Dean's stomach and he knew it was important.

But right now all he was interested in doing was getting Sam better.

* * *

 **As usual, Bobby comes to reduce his idjits ;) I stole the idea for holy water balloons from the Dresden Files because why have they not thought of that before?**

 **Only one more chapter after this!**


	10. Chapter 10

**And here's the end of the story! Thanks so much to everyone who has followed faved and reviewed! I'm glad you enjoyed this :)**

Chapter Ten

Dean finally sat beside his brother's bed in the hospital after hours of filling out paperwork for the doctors and answering questions for the police. He and Bobby had worked up the story that Sam had been kidnapped, managed to escape his captors and stumble onto a payphone where he was able to contact his brother who had been in town waiting for the detectives to release his 'body' when they identified it. Thankfully, though skeptical, the police seemed to believe it, though they wanted to question Sam when he woke and was coherent enough to speak. Dean was glad of that; it would buy him some time to talk over the story with Sam.

The younger Winchester had been a mess when they brought him in, and hadn't regained consciousness fully since he had fallen asleep on the car ride there. When Dean finally got a chance to talk to the doctor after his discussion with the cops, the man had told him that Sam had suffered multiple wounds that looked like they were made with a knife, and bruises from various beatings. On top of that, he had just begun to suffer from dehydration and starvation and that, coupled with the drugs pumped into his system, had made him weak and gave him a fever. But they were giving him fluids and antibiotics to fight any infections that may have been contracted and as soon as he woke they would work on getting some food into him. It wasn't as bad as it could have been, Dean knew that, and was thankful, but it was still bad enough. The fact that it had happened at all, and that he had failed to gank the demon responsible for making his brother suffer made him angry. But at least he had Sammy back and alive. That thought struck him for the first time and made him bury his face in his hands as several tears of relief escaped. Just a week ago he thought he might never see his little brother again, and here he was. A little worse for wear, but alive and on the road to recovery.

A small moan sounded from the bed, making Dean instantly alert. He leaned over the bed, scooting his chair closer and took hold of Sam's hand, giving it a little squeeze.

"That's it, Sammy, you can do it," he coaxed and then grinned as his little brother's eyes flickered open. "Hey, sleepyhead."

"Dean?" Sam asked groggily, frowning as he looked around the room.

"You're at the hospital," Dean offered in case Sam didn't remember. "Doc got you all patched up. You'll live. How are you feeling?"

"Sore," Sam muttered, picking up his other hand to rub his head. "Tired, headache."

"You have a fever, but it's gone down a lot in he last couple hours. Should be gone by morning," Dean assured him. "The police were here. They're gonna want to talk to you sometime. I'll tell you the story later."

Sam smiled slightly. "Just like old times."

Dean chuckled. "Yeah."

Sam was silent for a while then, "Did you ever get ahold of Dad?"

Dean sobered. "No. I called again to tell him everything was all right and to ignore Steven's message. Don't know what good it will do."

Sam looked down at his bandaged wrists where some blood was still showing through the gauze. "Dean, have you thought of the possibility that he might be—"

"No," Dean said quickly, sharper than he had intended, and he softened his voice with a sigh. "No, I know he's still alive. It's nothing new, Sam. He's only gotten worse since you left. Sometimes we hunt together, but most of the times he just goes off on some lead by himself for weeks at a time, sometimes with only a handwritten note waiting for me when I wake up. I think that's just how it's going to be until he finally finds the thing that killed Mom. If he ever does." Dean swallowed hard knowing that he might very well have been closer than John had in years, but there was no way of knowing. It wasn't a certain thing that the demon that had taken Sam had been the one who killed their mother as well. Even Bobby thought it could be a coincidence. Of course, he and Dean both knew better than that, but there wasn't really any harm in lying to yourself sometimes—that's how Dean felt anyway. And so as long as he was doing that, he was going to keep the information from his brother for now too. There was no reason to upset Sam more than he was already. He didn't need to feel obligated to be a part of this.

Dean stood quickly, and patted Sam's knee. "Now that you're awake, I'm going to go get some coffee. I'll be right back."

"Dean," Sam called before he could leave and Dean turned around to see his younger brother fidgeting restlessly with the edge of the blanket draped over his lap. Dean could tell he had something to say and slowly sat back down, leaning forward with his elbows against his knees.

"What is it, Sammy?" he asked gently.

Sam swallowed, still fidgeting. Dean bit the inside of his cheek as he saw the hesitation on Sam's face; something was definitely bothering him. He looked so young sitting there in the bed, his bruised face and messy hair that the nurse had thankfully washed for him, and Dean's chest tightened with the need to protect his little brother, his kid, the way he always had; to make whatever was bothering him go away. Hell, he had missed Sammy so much, he hadn't even realized how much—had denied it to himself since Sam had left that night—and now having him back was like a bittersweet punch to the gut. He fell back into just being his older brother, as if not a day had passed when they hadn't been together like always.

Finally Sam raised his eyes to meet Dean's, that crease between his brows that came around when he was troubled. "That demon who caught me, Dean, he seemed to think I was…someone else," he said.

Dean frowned. "Why would you say that, Sammy?"

Sam shook his head and looked back down at his lap. "He—he seemed to think I could do things."

Alarm bells started to go off in Dean's head but he forced himself to stay calm for Sam's sake. "What kind of things?"

Sam shrugged, but he couldn't hide how shook up he was. "I'm not entirely sure. I guess some kind of psychic powers or something?"

"What?" Dean asked, almost laughing. "He thought you were Wonder Boy or something?"

Sam gave him a bitchface, something Dean had almost forgotten he did. "Dean, it's not something to joke about, he was so determined I had these powers that he was willing to torture me and people I love to either force me to admit it, or to force me to learn how to do it. That's why he gave me all those drugs. It was like to 'stimulate my senses' or something. And…right before you got there, he was going to…"

"What, Sammy?" Dean asked, leaning closer to his brother, putting a hand on his arm and squeezing slightly. "What was he going to do?"

Sam's frown deepened. "He was going to…bleed in my mouth?"

Cold fear clutched at Dean's stomach and he tightened his grip on Sam subconsciously. "Bleed in your mouth? Why the hell would he do that?"

"I don't know," Sam said helplessly. "But I get the idea it wouldn't have been a good thing."

Dean rubbed his arm to calm him as he thought, wondering what this all had been about really? He had no idea what could be accomplished by a demon bleeding in someone's mouth. Was demon blood some kind of drug? He was going to have to look into that.

"It's okay, Sammy, he didn't do anything, right?" he tried to assure his brother. "And he's gone, Bobby sent the son of a bitch back to hell, so he shouldn't bother you again."

"Yeah," Sam said, though he didn't sound convinced. Dean was about to say something else reassuring, but Sam spoke again, quietly. "I thought I was out, Dean."

Dean frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, this." He motioned around the room. "Getting beat up by monsters and hunting and getting people hurt or worse. I thought I was done with that, and then it found me again and now…with what almost happened to Jess…" He swallowed hard. "That demon was inside of her, Dean, she came to me in Jess' body and said that if I didn't do what Steven wanted then they would hurt her. It possessed her while she was sleeping, she never even knew…"

"Sammy," Dean shook his head, reaching out to put a gentle hand on his brother's shoulder, careful of his wounds. "None of that was your fault, okay? Crap just happens to us, it always has. I wanted you to get out, and no one says you can't. Sam, what you have here, what you built—it's good, really good. I envy you for what you made of yourself."

"Come on," Sam protested.

"No, seriously!" Dean said. "You have friends, a hot girlfriend—who you're living with, no less—you have a life here, Sammy. I bet you even do great on your midterms." That coaxed a small, annoyed smirk out of Sam that made Dean smile in return. "You did good here, kiddo."

"But if I'm just going to bring trouble, what's the point?" Sam sighed. "I may as well go back and hunt with you and Dad."

"Sammy," Dean said earnestly, forcing his brother to look at him. "Don't throw this away, not just because of this, okay? I know it was bad, and traumatizing, but don't be stupid. You were never happy hunting. You can't just quit your chance at a normal life like that. You gotta keep fighting because that's what we do, right?" Dean looked up and smiled as he saw the door opening and nodded toward it, lowering his voice. "See? You have people who would miss you. _That's_ your reason to try, Sammy."

Sam looked up to where Bobby stood in the doorway with Jessica. "Hey, Sam, glad to see you up. Brought you a visitor."

Dean relinquished his seat with a smile as Jessica hurried into the room and looked like she was going to throw herself into Sam's arms when she pulled back, obviously noting his injuries and simply stroked his face and bent to kiss him.

"Sam," she said, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Sam reached up to wipe them away and stroked a hand through her hair. "It's okay, Jess, I'm alright."

"I think I'll go get that coffee now," Dean said with a smirk. "You two love birds can catch up. Be gentle with him, Jess."

"Thank you, Dean," she said sincerely, turning to look at him.

Dean nodded and followed Bobby back out into the hall.

"He gonna be all right?" the older hunter asked.

Dean took a deep breath. "Yeah, I think he'll be okay."

Bobby was silent a while before he continued. "You know, I have the feeling this is only the beginning of something. Something big and nasty."

Dean swallowed hard, but forced the nonchalance back onto his face. "Yeah, when isn't it? Look, whatever it is, we'll deal with it when we get to it. But right now, I'm just glad to have Sammy back."

"I know, me too," Bobby said, clapping Dean on the shoulder before heading down the hall, leaving the younger man standing there. Dean closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He had a sick feeling in his gut too. He knew something was coming, and he knew better than to think it was going to be easy, but he also knew that if it came to it, they would beat it. Because they were the freakin' Winchesters and that's what they did.

Right now, though, he was going to get some coffee and keep his brother company, because that was all that mattered at the moment.

The End


End file.
